The Art of Living
by krumkler
Summary: Episode-fic set in late season 4. The case of a body drowned in paint causes Beckett to re-evaluate Castle's place on her team and in her life.  Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Don't own'em

**A/N:** Yeesh, let's try this again. Not sure what I did, but I tried to upload a chapter and ended up deleting the story (am also in a place with lame and frustrating internet for a bit, which may have been a conducing factor … or perhaps I am just a noob at this website). Sorry to those who put the previous posting of this story on alert. My bad.

This story takes place sometime in season four. Everything up to and including Head Case is fair game.

I cannot write the ending to this story, in terms of the relationship between Castle and Beckett. I'm stumped. Kate is stubbornly refusing to fall into Castle's waiting arms. As you read, perhaps you can tell me what you think of her progress, and Rick's, and Alexis'. Your input/feedback is much appreciated, especially as I'm still trying to get a handle on the characters, and will be implemented if it strikes a chord.

Thank you to those of you who reviewed Trickery. You're the reason I'm writing this one, so the following is dedicated to you.

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><p><strong>The Art of Living 18  
><strong>

Castle stumbled out of his bedroom, rubbing his palm over sleep-crusted eyes. He caught sight of Alexis sitting at the breakfast bar, hunched over what was no doubt a ridiculously thick textbook. One day, he thought groggily, it would stop surprising him that he'd fathered a daughter who was so studious. It was Saturday, for goodness sakes.

"Good morning, daughter," he mustered up some cheer, even though he hadn't had breakfast yet. "What time is it?"

"Ten to noon," she replied, without turning around.

That effectively snapped him fully awake.

"Ten to noon! Why didn't you wake me?" He made his way towards her. "You had the whole day planned out. Starting with strawberry smiley-faced pancakes at 8AM. You know," he felt beholden to add, "it's a sign of how much I love you that I was willing to wake up at 8AM on a Saturday."

The joke netted him barely a shrug from his daughter. Which set the dad-alarm blaring.

"Pumpkin?" He laid a kiss on her temple. "What's wrong?"

She didn't look up from her ridiculously thick textbook on – he peered at the book over the top of her head – organic chemistry. Ick.

"I'm sorry I overslept," he offered.

She heaved a gusty sigh and looked up at him with those big blue eyes that invariably turned him to absolute mush.

"It's not that." She was wearing her sad face.

"Then?" he asked, dad-alarm now on full red alert.

"Ashley didn't skype me last night."

Oh. He blinked. Boyfriend trouble. What a minefield to have to navigate on a Saturday morning before breakfast. Couldn't she have tossed him something easier? Like wanting a puppy?

"Did you try calling him?" Castle asked. That seemed reasonable.

"He wasn't online." She fingered a corner of her textbook, all listless. "And he wasn't answering his phone."

"Oh." Think, Castle. Think.

"I sent him a text last night too," she continued, sighing as she rested her chin in her palm. "But he hasn't answered yet."

"Honey," he coached himself to tread lightly. "First semester college can be very demanding. And at a school like Stanford-"

"So demanding he can't find the time to send me one text?" Hurt flashed in her eyes.

"Well..."

"You told me that when it comes to love," she interrupted, "you have to follow your heart and not your head."

"And I remember those being very wise words?" He didn't mean for it to come out as a question. Or to look like a deer in headlights as he said it.

"Well, right now my head says that he must've had a good reason, but my heart is..." She trailed off, struggling to find adequate words.

"Hurt?" Castle suggested. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight bear hug.

Alexis nodded, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, pumpkin," he soothed, silently thinking he could throttle Ashley for making his little girl so sad. "Anything you want to do today, name it. Laser tag. Fencing. We can go to the park and chase pigeons. You love doing that."

"I loved doing that when I was three," she pointed out. He could hear her roll her eyes, even though he couldn't see it.

"You're still three to me," he murmured into the red of her hair.

"I don't want to do anything." She pulled out of embrace. "I just want to sit by myself. And read about organic chemistry."

He frowned at the sad, stubborn look on her face. She should get out. "Honey, just because things are not going so smoothly with Ashley at the moment, doesn't mean you have to sit around and mope. No matter how tough it gets, if you love each other, it'll work out."

Any attempts he wanted to make at getting Alexis to go out were cut short by the sound of his phone ringing. He pulled it out of his pajama pocket and glanced at the screen. Beckett.

He looked at his daughter.

"Take it, Dad," Alexis insisted. He hesitated, but she turned those big sad eyes on him and he was nothing but a puddle on the floor.

He sighed heavily as he answered the phone.

"Good morning, Detective," he said trying not to sound as miserable as Alexis looked. "What Beckett-flavoured goodies are we having today?"

* * *

><p>The sun was out, New Yorkers were bustling on the sidewalks and the air was crisp. The street Castle and Beckett were walking along was populated with five-storey brownstones, in a neighbourhood that was just entering its gentrification phase. Older buildings knocked elbows with shiny new designer conversions in the age old cycle of decay and renewal. The otherwise peaceful block was lit by the red-and-blue of police sirens, and part of the sidewalk was criss-crossed with yellow crime scene tape.<p>

"You should've seen her," Castle said, turning to the brownstone Beckett pointed out. It was one of the more rundown ones on the street. "She looked so sad."

"Well, long distance relationships can be quite the adjustment," Beckett offered, leading him through the front entrance and up the stairs to the top floor. "It's going to get tougher, before it gets easier."

"She didn't even want to go out today. I offered to chase pigeons in the park."

"Something every teenage girl wants to see her dad do in public," Beckett said wryly.

His poor daughter, Castle thought. Sitting at home all alone and sad. "I don't like seeing her moping. Alexis is a doer. Not a … moper."

"It's normal, Castle."

"You've had a long distance relationship?" He asked eagerly. Female insight was needed here.

"I went to college in New York. The guy I was dating at the time went to Ohio State. Football scholarship. We called each other daily for an entire week, and then I got sucked into classes, and he into his training schedule."

"What did you do?"

"I spent a Sunday alternatively crying on my mom's shoulder, eating ice cream, and cutting every picture of him out of my high school yearbook."

Castle stared at her, stopping in his assent of the stairs at the rather vivid image she had conjured up. "That seems awfully-"

"Therapeutic," she informed him pointedly. She kept climbing up the stairs. "Then I got over it."

"Just like that?" He hurried to catch up with her.

"A classical music junior may have helped." She shrugged, but there was that teasing tone in her voice.

"Classical music junior?" Castle tried not to think of Alexis on the rebound. Or hyperventilate at the thought of Alexis on the rebound. And then an important detail caught his attention. "Wait. High school jock? Classical music major? Is there anyone who's not your type?" And then he moved onto an even more significant point: "I bet you haven't dated a famous mystery-novel writer yet. I humbly offer my services to round up your experiences. I'm also ruggedly handsome," he magnanimously sweetened the pot. "It's a two-for-one deal."

Beckett rolled her eyes. He thought he caught her wearing that amused, indulgent smile he loved so much, but then they were entering the apartment at the top of the stairs and Kate was all business.

"Hey, Lanie," Beckett said, "What have we got?"

Castle looked around at what was clearly an artist's studio. The skylights, though old and weathered, let in a good amount of light. Canvases of all sizes rested along one of the walls, while built-in shelves of paints and paint-related paraphernalia occupied the two others. In the middle of the room, in front of an unfinished canvas, lay a body. It took Castle a moment to register just what he was seeing.

"We have a 31-year old male." Lanie informed them. "Cause of death is-"

"Is that paint?" Castle interrupted excitedly.

"Green paint," Lanie confirmed with what passed for patience where she was concerned.

Castle couldn't look away. The victim's head was completely covered in green paint. So was his entire body, from his bare feet to the tips of his hair. Paint lay pooled around a large part of the floor surrounding the body, looking like it had alternately been poured and splashed.

"It's like the Green Lantern died," Castle couldn't help but comment.

"This one's human," Lanie pointed out.

"Hal Jordan was human" Beckett and Castle said at the same time. And then looked at each other; the latter with a grin, and the former with an amused frown.

"Honey," Lanie said, "You are spending too much time with writer-boy here."

Castle preened at the idea of rubbing off on Beckett. Even though Lanie had called him writer-boy.

Beckett, for her part, got back to the matter at hand. "Cause of death?" she prompted.

"Like I was saying," Lanie gave a pointed look to Castle. "31-year old John Crombie died of-"

"That's John Crombie?" Castle cut her off in surprise. He looked at Beckett. "He's the biggest thing in New York's art community these days."

"Interrupt me one more time," Lanie threatened. Castle mimed zipping his mouth shut.

"Cause of death is drowning," she said while shaking her head at him.

"Drowning?" Beckett repeated. "You mean asphyxiation?"

"Nope, I mean drowning. When I open him up, his lungs are going to be full of green paint."

Castle grimaced. "Not the Green Lantern then."

"I'm guessing someone held his head in that can of paint right there," Lanie used her pen to point out the can that was lying by Crombie's oh-so-green head.

"No footprints?" Beckett asked Esposito, who was just entering the room. Her eyes were engaged in a quick survey of the ground

"No," he replied, nodding in greeting to Castle. "It's weird. No footprints, no wheel marks, nothing."

"So the killer drops the paint after he commits murder?"

"To cover his tracks!" Castle leaped into the conversation, rather pleased with his play on the literal and the figurative.

Beckett looked around the room, clearly ignoring his wittiness. "Why throw paint on the floor? If he-"

"- or she -" Castle helpfully cut in.

"- wanted to destroy evidence, why not use paint thinner or bleach?" She gestured towards the shelves containing those very items.

Good question, Castle thought.

"Maybe," Esposito offered, "He - or she -" he added for Castle's benefit, "isn't the brightest colour on the palette."

"Feed the birds," Castle put out his hand in recognition. Esposito complied, very pleased with himself as they exchanged grins.

Lanie was the one who rolled her eyes at the two of them. Beckett was too busy examining the crime scene.

"Maybe," Castle suggested, "Our killer removes his shoes after drowning his victim. His socks wouldn't have paint on them."

"And then he pours green print over his shoe prints." Beckett continued his train of thought.

"Thereby," Castle couldn't help but say it again, "covering his tracks." Still made him grin. So clever.

"Make sure CSU checks the paint cans for prints," she glanced at Esposito. "And where does that lead to?" Beckett gestured towards the doorway behind her.

"It's a door to nowhere," Ryan said, entering the room from the front doorway. At the four confused looks he received, he elaborated, "that door opens onto what used to be a fire escape. Building here is in pretty bad shape. Fire escapes fell into disrepair a few months ago. Unusable. Building owner removed them. This here," he indicated the room they were in, "is a violation of half a dozen fire codes."

"So it doesn't lead to nowhere," Castle cut in, and at Ryan's confused frown he explained: "The door; it leads outside."

Ryan looked at Castle, wearing an expression of betrayal. "Dude," he said, hurt, "it doesn't go anywhere," he insisted. "So it's a door to nowhere."

Castle opened his mouth to rebut, but Beckett headed him off at the pass.

"Any witnesses?" She asked Ryan, but not before exchanging an amused glance with Lanie.

"Uniforms are canvassing the building next door, but so far nothing. His assistant found the body." Ryan flipped through his notepad. "One Amanda Coleridge; she says that it wasn't unusual for the vic to be here at all hours, painting. The studio alarm was deactivated at exactly 3:03 this morning, so that is the exact time Crombie got here. She walked in an hour ago - the door alarm confirms that too. It records every time the door is opened or closed, even when the alarm is deactivated"

"Alright," Kate said. "Let me know if anything comes from the canvas. Do you have a time of death?" she asked Lanie.

"I'll have one for you as soon as I get this guy back to the morgue. If I had to guess, I'd say sometime after midnight. Can't tell much of anything with all the paint covering our vic."

"Because," Castle repeated, because it was still clever except no one but him seemed to recognize the fact, "the killer covered all his tracks."

Beckett gave him that look she reserved for when he was being particularly unhelpful. Castle grinned. Finally. Mission accomplished, and it only took him like a million tries.

"Does Crombie's assistant know what he was up to last night?" Beckett asked Ryan.

"Nope," he shook his head. "Crombie had a meeting with his agent over lunch yesterday. After that, nothing."

"You know what I don't get?" Castle said, eyeing the studio with a critical eye, "Crombie was a rising star. His last set of works all sold within a week. The Met is interested in him. Why would he still paint in a dump like this?" He poked at the crumbling plaster around a window.

"Not everyone needs a bat cave to get their work done, Castle." Beckett replied, that irresistible teasing smile of hers very much audible in her tone.

"You're just jealous of all my cool toys." He mustered his dignity. Bat cave. Although it would be super cool to have an underground tunnel leading to his lair. And his building's parking garage didn't count.

"Vic's assistant says this is the place he got started in," Ryan took the opportunity to cut in. "It's where he was painting when he caught his first break. He considered it lucky."

They all looked down at the green body lying in front of them.

"Not lucky enough," said Castle.

* * *

><p>Castle set Beckett's coffee down on her desk before settling himself comfortably in his chair. He smiled at that furrow of concentration between her brows. She absently reached for the cup as she flipped through the file in front of her.<p>

"A painter who drowned in paint," he mused, hands clasped in front of him, "it's sort of poetic."

At Beckett's raised eyebrow, he amended: "In a very macabre sort of way."

"Lanie called," she informed him. "Time of death is between 1AM and 4AM. And he definitely drowned in green paint."

"That leaves the killer an hour, from the time Crombie entered his studio."

"Right," Beckett acknowledged, looking up from the file and leaning back in her chair. "So, the vic arrives at his studio around 3AM."

"Which is perfectly normal according to his assistant."

"It is," she agreed. "It's pretty well-known that Crombie didn't really keep to a schedule."

Castle frowned. "You knew Crombie?"

"Not personally. But like you said, he was an up-and-comer in the art scene. I've been to a couple of his showings."

"Ah, of course." He was just a bit disappointed that he hadn't thought of it earlier. "I've seen the books in your apartment. Detective Kate Beckett," he grinned at her, "aesthete."

"Crombie was renowned for his insomnia and irregular work habits." She spoke without acknowledging a word of what he'd said, which Castle noted with an ever-widening smile, was something she did pretty often. "He grew up in a rough neighbourhood. One of the few to make it out. Got his start in graffiti."

"Street art, you mean," he corrected.

"I mean graffiti." Her eyebrow raised in a minor challenge.

"One person's rubbish is another's art." Ah, he thought gleefully, the chase is on. He settled himself in for a nice clash of words with Beckett.

"And defacing property is a charge of criminal mischief, art or no art."

"Like you've never done anything mildly illegal in your life."

"Nothing you'll ever hear about."

"Now I'm intrigued." Debate forgotten, he turned his body fully towards her, leaning one elbow on her desk and resting his chin in his palm. "Do share with the class."

Beckett said nothing, staring intently at the murder board, while he stared intently at her. He would not be the first to cave. He would not be the first to cave. He would not-

"Come on!" Castle wheedled. "I showed you mine!"

She spared him a glance. "When you were under suspicion of murder. And you didn't show me," she pointed out, "I pulled your files."

"Please," he scoffed. "You never really believed I did that." He was all confidence. "You were playing bad cop - which, by the way," and here the thought of Beckett playing cops and robbers with him overtook all other sensibilities, "you can play with me anytime you want."

Beckett rolled her eyes. "Castle, focus."

He stared at her, getting a bit lost. Beckett in her dress blues, slapping cool, gleaming cuffs on his wrists. Using a bit more force than necessary-

"Focus on the case, Castle." She pushed herself out of her chair and moved closer to the murder board. "We have a window of opportunity of one hour. The alarm was de-activated at 9:36PM the night before, and then re-activated at 10PM. We need to establish where Crombie was between 10PM and 3AM."

"Anything from Crombie's family?"

Beckett shook her head. "He was a foster kid, in the system from the age of eight when his mother was killed during a convenience store robbery. No family to speak of. Esposito is running down his known contacts from his graffiti days, but that was years ago. He could be well clear of that life."

"From spray painting walls in the dark of night, to being exhibited at the Met," Castle joined Beckett by the murder board. "Quite a story."

"Hey." They both turned at hearing Ryan's voice.

"We followed up on what Amanda Coleridge said," Ryan continued, approaching the murder board with Esposito at his side. "Asked her about Crombie refusing to paint anywhere but at his rundown studio. Turns out the rest of the brownstone has been completely vacated. Owner was offered a deal by a big-shot developer to turn the building into luxury lofts. Paid out all the other tenants to break their leases. Crombie was the only one who refused to budge."

"The owner, by the name of David Carter," Esposito followed up, "has been trying to push Crombie out for the last six months."

Castle glanced at Beckett, and saw that the wheels were clearly turning in her head.

"It gets better," Esposito said, also catching the look on her face. "Turns out the developer was getting a little bit impatient with Carter. Was just about ready to pull out of the deal. We're talking about a loss of millions for Carter."

"And then Crombie is suddenly found murdered in his apartment," Castle nodded as he worked out the story in his head. Not the most creative of motives, but certainly one that fit.

"That is awfully convenient." Beckett's eyes glinted in the silent victory of a predator who finally finds a prey.

"When it comes to real estate in New York," Castle said, "people have killed for a lot less."

"Come on, Castle," Beckett grabbed her coat from the back of her chair. "Let's go apartment hunting."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** Don't own'em

**A/N: **To all those of you who reviewed: thank you! The plot thickens in this here bit, and then we can dive into the parts that were more challenging to write. I look forward to hearing what you have to say.

This next chapter is for Xleste. You're a gem :)**  
><strong>

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><p><strong>The Art of Living 28  
><strong>

Kate watched David Carter from her seat across his desk. He was clearly a small-time property owner. A tiny office tucked into the basement of an old, unkempt building in a part of the city where the rents were cheap but not much was worth buying. He was young, in his twenties. His hair was slicked back using copious amounts of gel and his open shirt exposed a chest matted with hair. These unappealing qualities aside, he had the build necessary to drown a man Crombie's size in a can of paint.

"Yeah," Carter was saying. "Mark Warner offered to partner up with me. He wanted to develop my brownstone into luxury lofts." He looked from her to Castle. "What is this about?"

"That's a sweet deal," Castle said, making it sound like Mark Warner was getting taken for a ride. "We've seen the brownstone. It's in terrible shape." He turned to Beckett. "Remind me: how many building codes exactly are in violation in that lovely construction?"

"Enough to put Mr. Carter here deep in hot water," she replied, looking Carter squarely in the eye.

"Or deep in green paint," Castle offered.

Carter frowned in confusion at Castle's remark.

"Do you know what the jail time is for code violations in the city?" Kate asked.

"Come on!" Carter said in a near-whine, turning to Kate. "The building was like that when I got it! I inherited it from my dad." He slumped back in his chair. He rubbed a hand over his face, the large gold rings on his fingers shining in the light, before turning pitiful eyes on her. "Would you believe it? The guy owns millions in property all over the city, but he leaves me one decrepit, ugly-assed brownstone in an even uglier neighbourhood. The rest goes to his 25-year old trophy wife. Thank god for gentrification. It's my chance to move up in the business."

"Except John Crombie refused to move out," Kate said.

"Must have put quite the dent in your plans." Castle prodded.

"Dent," Carter scoffed. "I was just about ready to kill the guy."

Castle winced. "Ooh. Poor choice of words," he said, somewhat sympathetically.

Carter once again looked at Castle in confusion. He didn't look like much of a liar, Kate thought. That confusion was too genuine.

"John Crombie was murdered early this morning," she informed him, watching him closely.

His face whipped to Kate's, shock evident. "Murdered?" His eyes practically bulged out of his head. "No way!"

"Way," Castle said.

"Where were you between 3AM to 4AM this morning?" she asked.

"Wait, wait." Carter leaned in over his desk. Kate could see the tobacco stains on his teeth. "You think I killed him?"

"He was about to cost you millions," Kate pointed out.

"No," Carter said intently. "No, he wasn't. He called me yesterday afternoon, said he wanted to talk. I told him to meet me at the Java Hut on Broadway, in Battery Park at 5PM. You see, Mark offered Crombie one last deal: first choice of a loft in the new construction. Crombie called me to say he would take the deal."

"Why would he suddenly agree?" Kate was skeptical. "After holding out for six months?"

"I don't know!" Carter put his palms up defensively. "And frankly I didn't care. Crombie was even okay with paying the increased rent. Said he didn't care about that, he could afford it. He just wanted to be able to paint in that location."

"He met with you to tell you that?" Castle asked, sharing in her doubt. "Why not just tell you over the phone?"

"Oh, no, that's not why we met." Carter started rummaging through the papers and empty food containers on his desk, before victoriously pulling a sheaf of A4's out of the mess. "Here." He handed the papers to her. "He met with me to sign the contract."

Kate looked over the papers. "Can I have a copy of this?"

"Of course."

"Did Crombie say anything to you when you met?" Castle asked as he read the contract over Kate's shoulder.

"I told Crombie we were going to start on the project immediately," Carter answered, "and he'd have to vacate ASAP. He said it was just as well. He needed to get out of town for a while."

"Did he say where he was going?"

"No."

Kate looked over at Castle. Well, she thought, this is getting interesting. If the look in Castle's eye was anything to go by, he agreed with her assessment.

She turned to Carter. "You never answered my question: where were you between 3AM and 4AM this morning?"

Carter flushed. "I, uh, may have been with a lady."

"A lady?" Kate arched an eyebrow.

"A, um, lady … of the night." He refused to make eye contact with her. She glanced at Castle, who was clearly amused by Carter's use of the phrase.

"We'll need a name."

"I won't get in trouble over this, will I?" Carter asked her.

Kate bit back a sigh. "If your alibi checks out," she said, "You won't be under investigation."

"Glitter," he said. "Her name is Lady Glitter."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Carter," Kate stood up, "We'll be in touch."

She followed Castle out of Carter's office, shutting the door behind her.

"Lady Glitter?" Castle said, as soon as they were in the dank hallway. "I mean, seriously? That is so … not classy."

"Maybe he doesn't like it classy."

Castle's grimace was very eloquent. "So," he asked, "What next?"

"Well, we don't know where Crombie was planning to go, or why he wanted to leave town, but I know someone who might."

"Who?"

"Crombie's agent."

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><p>Arthur Fitzwilliam's offices were a world apart from David Carter's. Cathedral ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows, gleaming hardwood floor and the kind of furniture Kate wouldn't be able to afford on a lifetime's worth of cop salary. Hell, she was sure the couch she was sitting on cost more than her Harley. And the artwork - it was enough to make Kate salivate. She recognized a few of the pieces, but for the rest it seemed Fitzwilliam had a taste for sculptures from the Far East, which was outside Kate's area of knowledge.<p>

"I can't believe he's dead," Fitzwilliam said, shaking his head. The early evening light glinted off his silver hair. "He was going to be one of the great ones."

Kate leaned forward, treating him as she would a bereaved family member. It seemed to be what he needed at the moment. "I am sorry, Mr. Fitzwilliam."

"How did this happen?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," she replied. "How long have you known Mr. Crombie?"

"We met at a gallery opening in Chelsea … what was it? Eight years ago? He showed me his portfolio." A glimmer of a smile lit up Fitzwilliam's face. He chuckled. "Insisted I look at it, wouldn't take no for an answer. I was always immeasurably glad I did. His talent was evident, even back then."

Kate gave him a moment before broaching the necessary. "I know this is a difficult time for you, Mr. Fitzwilliam, but I have some questions-"

"Of course, of course," Fitzwilliam interjected. "Please, anything I can do." He leaned intently towards her, his sharp blue eyes giving her his full attention. Kate took a moment to adjust to his obvious charisma. He looked to be in his early fifties, and the cut of his expensive suit did nothing to hide the fact that he was clearly still in great shape. She'd bet charm was his secret, or perhaps not-so-secret, weapon.

"Did Mr. Crombie mention anything about taking a break from painting? Leaving town for a while?" She watched his eyes widen in surprise.

"A break? No." He shook his head adamantly, "nothing of the sort. He never mentioned it." His expression was earnest, rueful. "You know, even in his darkest times, painting is what kept his head above water." He hesitated, then added: "In every sense."

"What do you mean?" Castle asked.

"Well," he glanced from Castle to her, "John had a tough life growing up. His family was dirt poor. His father was in and out of jail when John was a kid, until he was killed while trying to hold up a bodega. His mother was murdered in a convenience store robbery two years later. Ironic twist of fate."

Kate caught Castle's wince at the agent's misuse of the term.

"John was put in foster care after that," Fitzwilliam continued, oblivious to the byplay. "He's always been … temperamental, moody. He has suffered from depression for a large part of his life, and he has refused to take his medication most of the time. He said it killed his creativity."

"Can you think of anyone who would want Crombie dead?"

"Well," Fitzwilliam began slowly, "John wasn't the easiest guy to get along with, but…" He shook his head, the notion seemed too much to consider. "Kill him? I can't..." He stopped suddenly, looked unsure.

"Anything would help," Kate encouraged.

"Well, there was this one woman. She kept coming to all his showings, following John around. At his last one, she threw her glass of wine in his face after accusing him of flirting with other women. It was rather..." He searched the air for a word. "Dramatic."

"Were they dating?" Castle asked.

"Not that I know of," he responded. "Just some unbalanced woman. Sometimes, regrettably, when one gets a bit famous, the unbalanced just crawl out of the woodwork."

"Do you have a name?" Another suspect, Kate thought. Though she had a hard time picturing a woman drowning a man the size of Crombie in a pot of paint.

"Julie something?" He paused, and then exclaimed, suddenly remembering, "Wait! I have a picture! She threw a glassful of wine in John's face just as I was taking a photo of him and one of his biggest patrons at a charity auction." He pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos. "I kept it, because … well … at the time the sight of a spluttering John just seemed too great to pass up." He held his phone out to her. "Here it is."

"Can you send me the photo?" She waited for Fitzwiliam's nod. "One last question: where were you between 3AM and 4AM this morning?"

"You don't think I–"

"We have to ask, Mr. Ftizwilliam."

"Oh, of course. Well, I'm an avid rock climber," Fitzwilliam replied, disconcerted. "I met with friends for a climb at Shawagunk Ridge this morning. It's about an hour and a half north of here. We were scheduled to meet at 5AM, so I left the city pretty early in the morning."

"Thank you," Kate smiled as she stood.

"Anything I can do."

* * *

><p>"A stalker," Kate said as they exited onto the street. "It's a lead we'll have to follow up on, but I'm not so sure it'll pan out."<p>

"Why not?" Castle asked, falling in step beside her. "He's right about crazy people coming out of the woodwork."

"Speaking from experience there, Castle?" She couldn't help herself. He made quite the easy target sometimes. Most of the time.

"Hey," he exclaimed, giving her a meaningful look. "You've seen my fan mail. And you've met my first wife." He shivered exaggeratedly.

Kate grinned in amusement, but only because Castle wasn't looking.

"Picture this, Detective," he began, donning his story-teller voice. "A single, lonely woman in New York. Her job is unfulfilling, she doesn't have much of a life. Comes home to her cramped apartment every evening, thinking there must be something out there for me. She craves excitement, something to break the monotony her life has become."

Castle paused dramatically here, building up a little suspense. Kate wouldn't deny enjoying these theories he spun. Often times, they were better than the words he put on paper and published in his books, simply because it seemed to her she had her own private tale-weaver. And Richard Castle, at that.

"Then," Castle continued, "One Saturday, she's at a gallery opening looking for some escape from her life. An up-and-coming new artist is on display. And his work just speaks to her, it offers her something she can't get out of her dull job, her non-existent personal life. So she attends more and more of his shows, and then little by little, her obsession with the art is turned into an obsession with the artist. He makes her feel alive. She talks to him, approaches him. In her twisted fantasies fueled by intense loneliness, she thinks he's responding to her on a deep, intimate level. Then she sees him flirting with other women. It's the ultimate betrayal. Her carefully crafted fantasy is shattered. She snaps. Follows him to his studio to confront him. He calls her crazy. She loses it and kills him, holds his head under the very paint through which he used to speak to her, the paint he used to chase away her isolation."

Kate gave him his moment of dramatic sobriety. It kept him content, after all.

"It's a good story, Castle," she said when she deemed the moment had passed. "But I don't buy it. A woman her size drowning a full-grown adult male? Let alone someone with Crombie's height and build? Not likely."

"Well, okay," Castle acknowledged, "but crazy ladies are like tripping meth addicts - superhuman strength."

"Meth users don't actually have superhuman strength. They just think they do." But then she relented, because she was going to do it anyways. It was just fun to poke holes in Castle's stories. "I'll have Ryan and Esposito track her down. If she was stalking him, she might know what he was up to the evening before his murder."

Kate pulled her phone from her pocket, emailing Esposito the picture of the stalker before calling him. Once the instructions were dispensed with and the line disconnected, she turned to Castle.

"They'll look into it first thing in the morning."

"You're heading home?" he asked in surprise.

She shook her head. "I have to update the files with this latest interview. Then I'll head home. But it's getting late," she indicated the darkening sky with a wave of her hand, "and we both know how much you hate paperwork, so you go ahead. Spend an evening with Alexis."

"How about I creepily stare at you while you do your paperwork, and then I treat you to Remi's for dinner?"

She eyed him suspiciously. Based on what he'd said about Alexis' moping session this morning, he should be spending time with his daughter.

"No hidden motives!" He raised his hands.

"Are you trying to avoid dinner with your heartsick daughter?" She frowned at him.

"No!" he protested, and then sighed rather petulantly. "She called me while you were getting the agent's address. She and Ashley are having dinner together over skype tonight."

"That's… actually cute."

"Sickening, isn't it?" He made a face.

She punched his arm, but not very hard.

"Come on," he tried again, in that warm, endearing tone of voice. "Have dinner with me. Distract a father from the thought of losing his only daughter to some Stanford upstart."

Kate laughed, shaking her head at his dramatics. Why the heck not. "Fine. But I am not sharing my milkshake with you."

"Like I'd even want to share with you," he said, sounding much like a five-year old.

She grinned, but whatever retort she was ready to grace him with was cut short by the ringing of her cellphone.

"Beckett," she answered the call.

"We just got a call from Crombie's alarm company." It was Ryan. "Someone opened the door to his apartment."

"Right now?" she asked in surprise.

"Not even a minute ago. How far out are you?"

"Maybe 5 minutes, tops."

"Esposito and I are on our way. We should be there in 10."

"We'll meet you there, but we won't wait."

She disconnected, jogging towards the car as she did, knowing Castle was right behind her.

"That was Ryan. The alarm company just called. Someone entered Crombie's studio not two minutes ago. We're meeting Ryan and Esposito there."

* * *

><p>"Stay here, Castle," Kate whispered, gun in hand, as they stood in the hall outside Crombie's studio. "You're not allowed inside." She waited for his nod before slowly opening the front door. She peeked inside, and although the sun had set a few minutes ago, there was enough light in the studio for her to make out a masked figure. He was digging through the shelves, by the back door, searching for something. He seemed to be unarmed.<p>

"Police," she said loudly and clearly, pushing the door open and entering the apartment. Kate raised her gun. "Freeze."

The figure did just that, startled in mid-motion. Male, she noted, 5'11". He turned his face to look at her. His foot twitched.

"Don't move," she gave her best glare. "You're under arrest for-"

The figure pulled open the door next to him, the one that led to the absent fire escape.

"There's no escape." Kate said taking slow steps towards the masked figure. "Unless you want to jump down five storeys."

The figure put his hands up and suddenly started walking towards her.

"Stop," she said, "or I will shoot. Down on your knees," she told the figure, readying herself for an attack. She saw no sign of a gun on him, at least not within easy reach. "Hands behind your head."

To her surprise, the figure suddenly about-turned and sprinted towards the open fire-escape door.

"What the-" she heard Castle say.

When the masked intruder reached the open doorway, he leaped straight out the door and into the air between the two alleys.

"Did you _see_ that?" Castle half-screeched, half-squealed.

Kate ran to the open door and watched the intruder as he sailed across the alley and onto the fire escape on the neighbouring building, landing rather ungracefully when one of his feet hit the railing and tripped him. He slammed into the opposite building's brick wall and seemed rather dazed, shaking his head and trying to get his bearings.

She sized up her odds. Pretty good, Kate decided. She still held her high school's record in the long jump after all.

Kate holstered her gun, took a dozen steps back into the room and turned around. She took a breath, sprinted towards the door, and leaped.

Castle watched Beckett leap out of the door and sail through the air, her face a mask of freaky zen-like determination.

"HOLY SHIT!" Castle yelled. And then ran to the doorway she had just freaking jumped right out of. "BECKETT!"

He shut his eyes tight, not sure if he could watch how this would unfold. But then he of course immediately opened his eyes, and just in time to see her grab onto the railing for the fire escape across the alley, swinging forward violently with the momentum of her jump.

Holy crap, he thought, his heart pounding in his chest. That was close.

She hung onto the railing for a moment, before swinging down to the landing right below her.

Wow. Castle marvelled. That was - wow. That was amazing. Right out of the movies. She just jumped, like, ten feet. Maybe fifteen? And then swung down like a ninja.

He watched her chase the intruder down the fire escape for a moment, trying to calculate his odds of making that jump.

"I'm coming!" He called out. He could do it too. He walked back into the room and took a deep breath. He turned to face the open doorway. He took another deep breath. If the intruder and Beckett could do it, so could he. He took another deep breath. And then he sprinted towards the door. Run, Richard Castle, run like the wind and then jump.

Just as he reached the open doorway, his arms shot out to stop his forward momentum, latching onto either side of the doorway. _Are you crazy!_ his brain screeched. He teetered for one horrifying moment during which his entire life flashed before his eyes, and then when the world stopped spinning he was euphoric to note that he was still on the inside of Crombie's studio, and not decorating the ground in that alley below.

He had too much to live for, he told himself as he gasped for breath and composure, to try jumping across a freaking alley. He gave one last look down those five terrifying storeys.

"I'll take the stairs!" He called out to Beckett, just as she tackled the intruder on the first landing of the fire escape.

He'd better hurry.

He turned tail and ran down the five flights of stairs before bursting out of the brownstone and turning towards the alley. When he ran into the alley, Beckett was still engaged in a tussle with the intruder on the narrow bottom landing of the fire escape. They were a good storey up, and the ladder had not been pulled so he couldn't do much but text Ryan and Esposito to let them know they should come immediately to the alley. He watched for a tense moment as Beckett dodged a punch, falling back enough to swipe the legs out from under the intruder. He fell back onto the railing, but immediately launched himself at her. Caught off balance, Castle watched in horror as Kate was shoved over the railing by the intruder.

The scene unfolded in slow motion.

She froze in midair as she tumbled over the side of the fire escape. Her arms reached wildly for something, anything, to grab onto as she fell to the ground ten feet below. Her scream filled the night for only an instant, before she hit the ground with a deafening thump.

"KATE!" Castle saw red. Jaw clenched, fists shaking, he ran towards the intruder who by now had swung down to the ground. Just as the masked man landed, Castle charged right into the bastard. The edges of his vision greyed by pure rage, Castle smashed into the intruder and sent him crashing to the ground. It was a hard enough fall to knock the wind out of Castle for a moment and by the time he regrouped, the intruder was fighting back, struggling to throw Castle off of him.

Castle lifted a hand, already fisted, ready to punch the living daylights out of the scum beneath him, when he saw a sudden flash of silver in the intruder's hand.

He didn't have time to register what he was looking at, before a sharp pain flashed in his side. His eyes widened. He looked down to see the hilt of a very large blade sticking out of his vest.

* * *

><p>Kate opened her eyes, dazed. It took her a moment to remind her body how to breathe, and she used that moment to try and remember what the hell had happened.<p>

It came back slowly. Foot chase. Alley. Fire escape.

She groaned, rallying her strength to sit up. Her head spun as she sat upright. She was forgetting something...

The loud grunt that came from a few feet to her left brought it all back.

Castle.

She turned in time to see the masked intruder shove Castle off him and stand up. Kate pushed herself up, ignored the dizziness and ran towards the two men.

"Freeze!" she yelled, reaching for her gun, even though that hadn't been a very effective order the last time.

She was about to chase the intruder, who was sprinting down the alley, when she noted that Castle wasn't exactly moving right. She stopped beside him and crouched down. He was her first priority.

"Castle?" she asked, looking him in the eye. He was leaning back against a dumpster. "Are you okay?" She glanced down the alley one last time, in time to see the intruder take a right turn onto the street, and then shifted her entire focus to Castle.

He looked up at her vacantly. His eyes slowly drifted down until he was looking at his hand covering the left side of his abdomen.

She saw the blood seeping through his fingers immediately.

"Castle!" The depth and breadth of her world shrank, fitting into the space between her and Castle and the blood covering his hand. No. She thought, desperately. Not like this.

"Let me see," she said. Anxiety gripped her words, tightened around her throat. She moved his hand away, and found that hers were shaking. Because the last person she'd seen like this was in the crime scene photos taped to a window in her apartment.

She took a deep breath. Focus, Kate. He looked pale. And scared. She took another deep breath. Panic would only scare him more. She tried to look as comforting as she could as she looked him in the eye.

"It's okay, Rick." She tried for a smile. "Let me look."

The panic in his eyes abated, and he removed his hand. She unstrapped his vest, trying to be gentle. He hissed in pain.

"Sorry, Rick." Tears were blurring her vision. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm just going to look-"

She stared at the wide gash in his upper left abdomen. It looked as wide as a machete wound. And a sharp one at that, to go through his vest so cleanly. And if he hadn't been wearing the vest … Kate's breaths were difficult to come by.

He was bleeding so much.

"Castle," she said, trying to tame the trembling in her voice. "I need you to lie down. Here," she cradled his head with one hand, helped him lie down. "You're okay, Rick. Lift your knees up," she instructed, and then helped him with that too. "It'll help with the bleeding."

"He stabbed me, Kate," Castle said. He was in shock. "It was a very big knife."

"Sh," she soothed, gently running a hand through his hair. "It's going to be okay." It's going to be okay, she repeated silently for her own benefit.

She quickly removed her vest and then unfastened her shirt.

"I'm going to apply pressure okay? You're going to help me." She put her shirt against his wound and pressed down. "Here, hold this down while I call in an ambulance." She fumbled for her phone in her pocket, keeping one hand pressed against his wound.

"Hey," he said as his hands closed around the one she was using to hold her shirt against his abdomen He sounded just a little bit like himself. He nodded towards the tank top she was wearing. "You should take that off, too." He grinned up at her.

"Shut up, Castle," she said, voice unsteady, heart pounding furiously. "Don't talk right now."

Her hands were sticky with his blood and she couldn't get her damn touchscreen phone to work. She wiped the phone against her jeans, trying her hardest not to start panicking.

"Beckett!" Esposito's voice. Kate sagged in relief as he and Ryan ran up to them.

"Call a bus!" she near-yelled at Esposito, "Castle's been stabbed." He didn't move for an instant, just stared at the scene in front of him. "Now!" Kate commanded, her composure quickly slipping.

She turned to a shell-shocked Ryan. "Ryan. Suspect is on foot, he went west out the alley. Black mask. Blue jacket and jeans. 5'11"…" Big knife, she thought, but couldn't say it out loud. "Go!" she said when Ryan still hadn't moved. He gave Castle one last look before sprinting off, cell phone already out.

"Ambulance is on its way," Esposito said, coming over to them. He crouched by Castle, eyes gauging the severity of his injury. "Your first war wound, bro," he told the writer, trying for an encouraging tone.

"So cool," Castle said, but Kate noted that he looked even paler than before, and his blood was seeping clean through her shirt and was warm on her hands. "You should've seen her," he told Espo. His eyes were dilated, sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Castle," Kate said, not a little desperately, "for once in your life listen to me and stop talking."

"She jumped right … across the … alley," he continued, oblivious to her orders, his eyes shining with excited awe. "Nikki is so doing that in the next book." He paused to catch his breath, winced as she pressed a little harder to try and staunch the flow.

"Castle, please." Tears were trailing down her face, dripping from her chin and onto their joined hands. She couldn't stop them. Her hands were shaking. Her whole body was shaking. "Please," she whispered.

He shifted his eyes from Esposito to her, his focus penetratingly clear for the space of a heartbeat.

"Kate," he said, and then she watched as that excited, warm, bright spark in his eye dulled.

"Castle!" Sirens were blaring in the distance. "Castle, the ambulance will be here in just a minute!" Don't leave me, she wanted to say, but that brought back things she wasn't yet ready to think about. "No," she said instead, even as his eyelids fell shut and his head lolled to the side.

"No," she pleaded, as Esposito sat helpless besides her, waiting for the ambulances to arrive. "No." And it became a mantra as she applied more pressure on the wound, repeating the same word over and over because her mother bled out in an alley and she'd be damned if she let Castle do the same.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** If I owned it, I wouldn't have to do the research for this fic on Wikipedia, and still get stuff wrong…

**A/N:** Thank you so much for your reviews, feedback and critiques. I really appreciate you taking the time to send me comments – some of which, by the way, are a delight to read. The endorphin rush from receiving your remarks got the creative juices flowing and, where I had once been stuck, I am now almost done writing this baby. It's like you guys are my Kate Beckett ;)

So with this chapter here begins the parts where we wade into uncharted waters, in terms of characterization (no template, in a way, for how the characters would act/react). I had to write up many takes on the scenes in this chapter before settling on what I thought hit the mark. I'm curious to know what you think, though, especially as your feedback will likely help me fill in the few gaps that remain. Or change what future chapters I've already written!

* * *

><p><strong>The Art of Living - 38**

The lights from the ambulance lit the alleyway, flashing light and dark, spinning in a nauseating carnival of red and white. Kate watched as the paramedics lifted Castle onto the stretcher, shouting out orders and vitals in organized chaos.

Her head hurt.

Her heart...

"Kate?" Esposito touched her elbow with a gentleness he didn't show very often.

"I'm fine," she said, more because those were the words she'd trained herself to say when she felt exactly like this. Lost and disoriented and not fine.

"Do you want to ride in the ambulance?" Ryan came to stand next to Esposito, worry etched into the lines around his eyes.

She turned to look at him. It took a moment for his words to sink in. And when they did, she was surprised to find she was shaking her head.

Ambulances and doctors and flashing lights still reminded her of things she didn't much like to think about outside the safe confines of her therapist's office.

"Beckett." Esposito said. His tone was stronger this time, snapping her out of her wandering thoughts.

Which is the exact moment in which she remembered Alexis.

"Call Lanie," she said, knowing it sounded more like an order than a request. "Pick up Lanie and bring her to the hospital, Espo," she said in a softer tone. She turned to his partner. "You ride with Castle, Ryan. And keep me posted."

He nodded, though he was frowning.

"What about you?" Esposito asked, his tone indicating just how much he didn't approve of this situation.

"I'm going to pick up Alexis," she replied. Ryan's eyes widened; his worry multiplied ten-fold.

"Shit," Esposito muttered under his breath.

"I have to tell her in person." Because hearing it in person from someone you knew had to be better than hearing it over the phone or from a stranger knocking at your door in the middle of the night.

"Go home and change first," Ryan suggested. "Wash your hands."

She looked at her hands, now stained red with Castle's blood. She viciously suppressed the urge to throw up. She took a deep breath and counted backwards from twenty in Russian.

"I'll see you at the hospital."

Esposito hesitated. "Lanie will kill me if I let you drive like this."

She lifted her hand up between them, holding it out flat. It was perfectly steady. "I have to tell his daughter, Javi." She was pleading with him, and it reminded her of pressing her shirt into Castle's abdomen, wishing, praying, hoping, pleading for him to be okay. She dropped her hand to her side before she gave herself away.

He nodded. Kate turned on her heel, unable to bring herself to look back and watch the ambulance doors close on Castle's unconscious form.

* * *

><p>Kate stared at the elevator doors as the lift slowly climbed up the building to Castle's floor. She'd changed her clothes and washed her hands, but she still felt his blood sticking to her skin.<p>

She wiped her hands against her jeans. She'd thrown the clothes she'd been wearing earlier down the garbage chute on her way out of her building. Because she couldn't stand the thought of them. Of all that blood.

Kate shook her head. Stop, she scolded herself. Prepare a plan of action.

Stop thinking so much.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she quickly fished it out with unsteady hands.

_Castle stable_, the text from Ryan read. _In OR_.

Kate allowed herself to breathe.

The doors slid open in front of her, and with significantly more confidence than she felt, Kate marched out of the elevator and to Castle's door.

She knocked. And then she waited.

"Detective Beckett!" Alexis greeted with her usual ebullience, the door swinging open. "Where's dad?" She searched the hallway behind Kate, still smiling.

Kate entered the loft.

"Alexis," she said, as gently as she could, trying not to think of how a detective had ended her world when she was just a little older than the girl in front of her.

Alexis' face fell. "Oh no. No." Her voice shook, echoing the mantra Kate herself had clung to not thirty minutes ago. "What happened?"

"Get your things, Alexis," Kate said. Little Castle looked so scared, so alone. Kate smoothed her hair away from her face. "Sweetie, I'll tell you on the way to the hospital."

But Alexis didn't move, instead she stood by the entrance, looking at Kate with near-panic and no doubt picturing worst-case scenarios.

Kate took her gently by the shoulders. "Alexis, he was hurt while we went to arrest a suspect. Ryan just texted me: your dad is in stable condition. Come on," she nudged the girl towards the stairs.

Alexis suddenly ripped herself away from Kate's grasp. "No!" There was a fierceness in her tone that startled Kate. "Tell. Me. What. Happened!"

Beckett briefly considered deflecting or hedging, until she remembered Castle's honesty-only policy with his daughter.

I hope I'm doing this right, she silently telegraphed the thought to Castle.

"We got a call about a break-in at our crime scene," Kate began. "The intruder ran, and I gave him chase. He..." She had to pause as the sudden undertow of guilt sucked her down. "He got away from me." And your stupid, stupid father, she thought, took it upon himself to try and subdue the suspect. Out loud she said: "Your dad tried to take him down, without realizing that the suspect had a knife."

Alexis sucked in a breath.

Kate stopped, watching Alexis carefully.

"Stupid." Alexis shook her head. Her face flushed with anger. Hands clenched into fists by her side. "I told him to grow up. I told him he should stop pretending to be a cop."

Kate had no clue about any of this. Apparently, Castle's honesty-only policy didn't extend very far beyond his daughter. I'm sorry, she wanted to say. I didn't know.

But that was a conversation better saved for the man himself.

"I shouldn't have listened to him." Big angry tears swept down her face. "I knew this would happen. I should've known better than to let him go back. He doesn't know better." She looked at Kate, something near hatred in her eyes. "This is your fault!"

Kate said nothing, knowing Alexis needed to vent, to release a valve on her sudden stress. But she couldn't stop the knife that sliced through her heart. Because, she thought, it was true. She was at fault. If she'd been quicker, stronger, smarter-

"He said he had to protect you!" She glared hard at Kate. "Did this have to do with your mother's case?" Her voice was low and rough, like gravel underfoot.

The question startled Kate. "My mother's case?" she asked, bewildered. And since when did she need protecting? "No." She wasn't looking into her mother's case. Castle had been right. She was going for counselling. "No, it has nothing to do with that, Alexis."

"He almost got shot last time!" She yelled, no longer really listening to Kate. "And now…" she choked, hot tears streaked her cheeks. A jag of sobs shook her shoulders.

Kate immediately wrapped her in a hug. "Okay, it's okay. Sh. It's alright," she soothed, waiting as Alexis cried, waiting as her stress and worry found their outlet. She wondered if Alexis had been keeping this all inside since Montgomery's funeral.

"Honey, we need to get going to the hospital." Kate said when she heard Alexis's sobs give way to sniffles. "The sooner we leave, the sooner we can be with him."

"Okay." Alexis said, still shaken. She pulled away in a daze, not looking at Kate. She walked towards the stairs. "Okay."

"Get your wallet," Kate called after her. "You might need ID. And your cellphone, okay? I'll call your grandmother while you collect your things."

She watched Alexis go up the stairs before pulling out her phone and dialling Martha's cellphone, her heart heavy with Alexis' grief. When they found whoever had stabbed Castle, she was going to string him up by his thumbs.

"Hello?" came the cultured, clearly thespian tones of Martha Rodgers.

"Martha," Kate began, "this is Detective Beckett-"

"Kate! What a lovely surprise," Martha exclaimed. "What is this about? I'm sure Richard told you I'm in LA for the week. The ocean, Darling, does wonders for the skin."

"Martha, I'm afraid I have some bad news."

There was only silence on the other end.

"Rick was attacked while we attempted to round up a suspect. He's been taken to Mount Sinai."

"Is he okay?" Martha's voice was thick with fear. "What happened?"

"He was stabbed in the abdomen. He's in stable condition at the moment." For the hundredth time in just as many seconds, Kate was grateful she had somewhat good news to give Castle's family. "But that's all I know."

"I … I..." Martha stuttered, but was unable to say more.

"I'm at the loft now, Martha. To take Alexis to the hospital."

"Oh my goodness!" Martha cried, "Alexis!"

"I'll take care of Alexis, Martha," Kate promised. "Can you make it back to the city?"

"What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course," Martha rambled. "The next flight. I'm on the next flight. Mount Sinai, you said?"

"Yes." Kate bit back the apology that sat bitterly on the tip of her tongue. "Will you be okay, Martha?"

"Yes." She sounded stronger now, less disoriented. "Yes. I am on the next flight out of LA. I will see you soon, Kate."

"I'll text you with updates." Kate said, and waited for the line to disconnect before putting her phone away.

Alexis came flying down the stairs, purse in one hand, a book in the other.

"It's my dad's favourite," she explained, hastily slipping into her shoes, tears drying on her face. "He used to read it to me at bedtime when I was little."

"Come," said Kate, ushering Alexis out the door and down the hallway with an arm around her shoulders. "Let's go."

Alexis remained silent, staring at the floor, clutching her book, and not looking at Kate until they entered the elevator.

"My dad," she said quietly once they were inside and had began their descent. The tears were back. "When he feels strongly about something, he doesn't stop. He doesn't know how to."

Someone, Kate thought desperately, hearing the accusation in Alexis' voice. When he feels strongly about someone.

She had been so sure she was making progress. She'd been working on bringing that wall down. She'd gone - was going, she was going for counselling.

And now, this.

"I don't want to lose my dad," Alexis whispered.

"As long as I have a say in the matter, Alexis," Kate vowed, "you won't."

* * *

><p>Over an hour later, Kate was sitting next to Alexis in the waiting room. She kept a worried eye on the younger girl. Alexis was clutching her book like it was her only lifeline, sitting at the edge of her chair with every muscle tensed.<p>

Over Alexis' head, Kate exchanged a concerned glance with Lanie.

Esposito and Ryan were sitting on either of Lanie, both staring at the floor.

Kate felt the hole in her chest, like her heart had been scooped out. She had to constantly remind herself to breathe. She worried about Alexis because it was the easiest way to keep from worrying about other things. Every muscle in her body was tensed too, she realized. But every time she tried to relax, it felt like she was letting herself fall into a dark, bottomless hole, losing her balance and falling just like she'd fallen down the fire escape earlier in night.

"Richard Castle?"

Five heads shot up, five hearts paused mid-beat. They all stood up, not knowing what else to do, trying to read the prognosis in the doctor's tired face.

"He's my dad," Alexis said, her voice was small, afraid.

"He's going to be fine," the doctor said kindly.

Kate felt faint with relief; the tight bands constricting it released their grip. She had nothing to hold her up, until she remembered that Alexis was right there.

"The excessive bleeding was caused by the knife nicking your father's spleen," the doctor continued. "We had to remove part of his spleen, but he'll be back to 100% after a course of antibiotics. Once he's awake and fully alert, I will run Mr. Castle through the full list of precautions he will need to take in the coming weeks. We'll be keeping him for a couple of days."

The doctor looked at Alexis. Kate put her hands on the girl's shoulders, because she looked like she needed it.

"We're moving him to a room now." The doctor said to her. "The nurse will come and get you when he's ready for visitors."

Ryan let out a relieved laugh. Esposito whooped, grabbing Lanie and spinning her around.

Alexis looked dumbfounded. Silent and still and lost.

"Hey," Kate said, cupping her face in her hands. "He's going to be fine, Alexis. It's okay."

Giant tears welled in the girl's eyes, and Kate was powerless. She pulled Alexis into a hug, murmuring soothing inanities.

"Why don't you go wash up?" Kate said, long minutes later. She wiped the tears from under Alexis' eyes with her fingers. "Splash some water on your face? You know how your dad hates to see you cry."

"Okay." Alexis reluctantly let go of Kate and went to the washroom. Kate watched her go. She could feel her hands suddenly shaking, didn't want to be anywhere near Alexis when the adrenaline plummeted, when the crash came.

"Kate?"

"I'm fine, Lanie." She barely managed saying it, her voice trembling. "I'm okay." She left the room, brushing past Ryan and Esposito, found the nearest stairwell and pushed the door open.

She leaned her back against the cool concrete wall, let it take all her weight as she slid down to the floor. She couldn't stop shaking, couldn't breathe the relief was so strong. She tried to focus her eyes on the far wall but everything was blurry; tried to gulp in deep breaths but nothing seemed to work.

He was not her mother. He was fine. She would catch the bastard who put him here, but Castle would be able to attend the trial. The sentencing. She didn't know if she had it in her to gnash her teeth against injustice for two ghosts.

But he was okay, and that was all that mattered. Kate managed to bury her head in her hands right before the tears flooded out.

She let go because there was no one to see, because she didn't make a habit of grieving for her mom in plain view, and she couldn't share her relief for Castle with anyone.

The door to the stairwell swung open tentatively.

"Kate?"

"I'm okay, Lanie," she choked out. Her friend had impeccable timing when it came to pulling Kate out from whatever dark hole she'd began digging to hide in.

Lanie knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms around Kate's shoulders and holding her close. "I know you are, honey." She didn't say anything else as Kate tried to get a grip.

"All I could see was my mom," she couldn't stop crying.

"Sweetie," Lanie soothed. "You're okay. He's okay."

Kate took long, deep breaths. She was okay. He was okay. Her tears stemmed.

"Alexis?" Kate asked. She wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her jacket.

"She's fine." Lanie replied, loosening her hug so she could look at Kate. "Ryan and Javi took her to get a hot chocolate. Something to take her mind off until they let her see Castle."

"Lanie, he can't do this anymore. That girl-"

"Sh," Lanie hushed her, pulling back to smooth Kate's hair away from her tear-stricken face. "Don't go there just yet, sweetie. He's fine."

"But the next time?"

Lanie had nothing to say to that.

"God," Kate said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm such a mess."

"You kept it in for so long, Katie. Hell, I'm surprised you didn't end up flooding the stairwell."

That netted a smile from both women.

"I'm going to go wash my face before I face Alexis again." Kate sighed, looking over at Lanie. "She yelled at me, when I picked her up."

"She's a child. A scared one."

"I calmed her down, but when she gets over the shock of all this, she's going to hate me."

"This was not your fault."

Kate looked away.

"Do you hear me, Beckett? Castle makes his own choices. And this here is writer-boy being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"This is 'writer-boy' not listening to me when I tell him to stay the hell out of the way."

"And now you can lord that over his head for the rest of your lives."

"Don't think I won't," Kate muttered darkly.

"And there's my girl," Lanie said, grinning.

Kate grinned back, sort of. This was all still a bit too fresh. "Let me call Martha. Then I'll come find you."

* * *

><p>Kate walked the hallway to Castle's room, stopping right outside his door. She would enter, she would check on him, and make sure he was okay. She would not cry.<p>

That was the plan, until she looked inside the room and saw Alexis climb into the bed with Castle. He was lying on his back, covered by a thin sheet, eyes closed, unmoving because he was either asleep or medicated. Alexis, her eyes red and swollen, wound her arms around her dad, cuddling in close and holding on tight.

Watching the scene unfold before her, she was hit by a full frontal assault of relief and fury and guilt. She couldn't look at him right now. Didn't trust herself not shake him or slap him or hug him.

The precinct, she thought. She should go back to the 12th and make a statement and report in to Gates – who would no doubt take perverse pleasure in being vindicated. This was likely the end of her partnership with Castle, if the captain had any say.

Kate didn't know if that was a bad thing. She didn't know if she would fight the captain on it this time. She slowly turned around and walked away. She'd come back when he was awake and she was in better control of herself, wasn't so emotional. And Alexis needed time with her dad, without intrusions, to hold him close until she shed the fear that he wouldn't be coming home tonight. The fear that he would become another picture in a case file, another memory etched into the walls of her heart.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** Don't own any of it

**A/N:** FYI, folks, I am not able to guarantee a posting schedule over the next week. I went from traveling to places where the internet situation was somewhat reliable to one where it is completely uncertain. (I was actually going to post this chapter yesterday, but just as I hit the submit button, the connection died. Ugh). I'm going to try and post a chapter this weekend, but then I can't promise to post again until late next week, at the earliest. I'll try, but no promises.

When you finish reading this chapter, we'll be halfway through the story (!). Honestly, writing this fic has been quite a challenge. Thanks to those of you who are leaving feedback. Makes this exercise feel more like a give-and-take, and less like releasing a bunch of words into the internet ether.

* * *

><p><strong>The Art of Living 48**

"I have a press circus on my hands, Detective." Gates was glaring. Beckett stood in front of the captain's desk, hands clasped in front of her, offended but unsurprised that Gates' had not even bothered to ask how Castle was doing. Knowing he hadn't been killed seemed enough for her.

"The city is clamouring for details on the famous Richard Castle's heroics. The mayor ordered me to say that Castle was attacked while bravely attempting to subdue a suspect during a foot chase."

That was a close approximation of the truth, Kate thought. Except for the 'bravely' part. It was more like stupidly.

"I happen to think he was more stupid than brave," Gates muttered.

Beckett stared in surprise at hearing Gates echo her thoughts.

_That was creepy_, said a voice in her head. It sounded uncannily like Castle.

"Your pal is lucky the mayor is on his side in this. He's even luckier the mayor thinks any press is good press." Gates shook her head, clearly disgusted. "And we're lucky he signed all that paperwork stating that the NYPD would not be liable for any injuries." She glared again at Beckett, with a ferocity that would've reduced a lesser being to a quivering pile of ashes. "We're damned lucky he didn't get himself killed."

Kate wisely kept her silence, because she knew that if she opened her mouth she'd end up saying something insulting to the captain.

"Did you give your statement?" Gates was still glaring.

"Yes, Sir."

"Any leads on the Crombie case? Or the Castle case?"

Kate flinched at hearing that. Castle case … She did not want to see his picture up on any murderboard. "Uniforms found the bowie knife and mask used in the attack in a dumpster four blocks from the alley. No prints on the knife, but it's a very high-end piece – looks like a collector's item – so Esposito is tracing it back to its owner. CSU is also searching the crime scene: the intruder came looking for something and, whatever it was, he didn't find it; but we will."

Gates nodded, satisfied for the moment. "Keep me posted, Detective. The mayor wants hourly updates." And then her glare was back. "And remember that the only reason you're still on this case is because the mayor insists that Richard Castle would demand you be the one investigating his assault." She paused to make sure her words sank in. "If it were up to me, I'd have you benched."

"Yes, Sir." Beckett exited the office, more than a little impressed that she had been able to hold her tongue. Have her benched. It'd be a cold day in hell before she let anyone take this case from her.

"She mad?" Ryan joined her as she walked to her desk.

"That's the understatement of the year." Beckett was still scowling. Did Gates think she couldn't be impartial? That she would jeopardize the case? Clearly, Gates did not know what Kate Beckett was made of.

"Word is the vest saved Castle's life," Ryan said.

Kate faltered in her steps. She was not ready for this. She counted backward from 20 in Russian, tried not to hear what Ryan was saying. To ignore the sudden buzzing in her head and sweat on her palms. She knew talking about it was Ryan's way of dealing with it. But she couldn't even think about it yet. She sometimes wished Ryan had Esposito's tact when it came to reading her.

"The size of the knife they found in the dumpster is enough to take out a boar," he continued. "So losing part of his spleen is the best outcome doctors could've hoped for, given-."

"Any word on Lady Glitter?" She cut in abruptly. She couldn't handle this just now. Ryan looked at her in surprise.

"We need to verify Carter's alibi so we can rule him out," she told him, ignoring his reaction. "Right now, we're adding suspects without removing any."

"Right." Ryan watched her closely, trying to read her, before addressing her question. "I spoke with Vice. Turns out Lady Glitter is part of a trafficking ring operating here in NYC. They've had her under surveillance for weeks. Carter was with her from midnight to 5AM. "

"Okay." Kate walked over to the murderboard. She moved Carter's picture out from the 'Suspects' column to the more tame 'Persons of Interest'. "That rules him out. How's the search of the crime scene going?"

"CSU is still at it, but they sent me a photo while you were inside with Gates. They found a paper in Crombie's studio." He handed her the folder he was holding. "This was on one of the shelves, hidden among other papers."

Kate opened it to find a photograph of a sheet of paper. Eight words were printed on it: _I know who you are_._ You will pay._

She frowned. "What does it mean? Blackmail?"

"Could be. It would fit." Ryan said. "CSU is running the original for prints."

She rubbed a hand over tired eyes. It was six in the morning, and she had yet to sleep. "It could be nothing." Beckett stared at the paper. "Crombie sometimes used mixed media in his work, not only paint. Maybe it was part of some project?"

"I'll talk to his assistant. She'd know if that's the case."

"You can probably catch a couple of hours of sleep first," Kate suggested, noting the tired lines on his face. "His assistant won't be awake at this hour anyways."

Ryan hesitated.

"I can make it an order," Kate threatened, only half-joking.

"If you need me," Ryan warned, "if anything comes up-"

"I'll call you, Ryan."

He was still reluctant. "You should probably catch some shut-eye, too," he said carefully.

"I'm fine." Truthfully, she was worried about what waited for her in sleep. She still hadn't been able to shake either her guilt or her anger over the situation with Castle. Under normal circumstances, she would have headed to the gym's punching bag, but she didn't want to tire herself out. She wanted to catch whoever had injured Castle and traumatized Alexis. And she still hurt from the fall she'd taken, the stiffness was slowly claiming her, the dull headache ever-present. No, the gym would be a bad idea.

"Go, Ryan."

"Alright," he said, not sounding too happy about it. "I'm going."

Beckett waited until Ryan had left before slumping down in her chair. She reached into her desk drawer for painkillers and, too tired to bother getting up again, swallowed them dry. Kate ran her hands through her hair, giving herself a moment, before she sighed heavily and turned to study the murderboard. She was going to put the pieces of this puzzle together, put order to this entire mess.

"The first crime, Crombie's murder," she muttered mostly to herself, thinking aloud, "had to have been planned." She looked over the timeline. The latest the murder could've been committed was around 4AM, which was still hours before Crombie's assistant was expected to show up at the studio. The killer had enough time to cover the entire crime scene in green paint. He was clearly in no rush.

_So why not search the crime scene for whatever he was looking for when he killed Crombie? He had the time. _The voice that sounded exactly like Castle's was back in her head.

Maybe he forgot, maybe he was interrupted, Beckett answered. She ignored for the moment that she was building theory with an absent Castle. Whatever worked.

_Or maybe that wasn't the killer._

"Come on, Castle," Beckett said aloud, before she could stop herself. "What are you basing that theory on?"

"Beckett?" Karpowski looked at her oddly from across the room. "Are you okay?"

"Uh," Kate stuttered, embarrassed at being caught talking to Castle in her head. "Fine. Just this case, you know."

Karpowski nodded, unconvinced, but went back to her work.

Alright, Castle, Beckett thought, let's say the intruder and the killer are not the same person-

_They can't be the same person, Beckett. The killer wouldn't risk coming back to the crime scene to look for something the cops didn't even know was there._

He didn't know that we didn't know, Beckett pointed out.

_It makes more sense for the killer to have searched the crime scene after he committed the murder. He had the time to find whatever he was looking for._

So the two aren't related? We have two separate crimes going on here? I don't believe in coincidences, Castle; the break-in and the murder have to be related. And was Crombie leaving town to get away from the person who killed him for whatever was in the studio, or the person who broke into his studio to find that same thing, whatever it is?

Beckett waited. This was just about the time when Castle usually proved himself most useful, but the Castle in her head remained silent. No theatrical theories.

She sighed.

"Beckett," Esposito called to her as he entered the precinct.

"Tell me you have something, Esposito," she said, happy to be distracted from the sudden silence in her thoughts. From the slight skip in his step, she would bet good money Esposito had found a lead.

"Met with a buddy of mine who collects knives," he said. "Our bowie is definitely a collector's piece. Not only that: it's custom-made. Maker's initials are engraved on the hilt. Turns out it's by a guy in Brooklyn who specializes in making pimped out hunting knives."

"Didn't know there was a market for that," she commented.

"It gets better: I call the guy in Brooklyn. After being reamed a new one for waking him up at 5 in the morning-"

That image almost made Beckett smile.

"-He tells me, yeah, he remembers the knife. It's not every day a woman asks for a custom-made knife, let alone a woman who looks like she walked out of a Bergdorf magazine and doesn't know the first thing about knives. He had to talk her down from putting gold leaf on the blade."

"Did he give you a name?"

"Julie Perkins." Esposito grinned.

"Julie. Fitzwilliam said the stalker's name was Julie." Beckett matched his victorious grin. "Good work, Espo."

* * *

><p>There was something decidedly off about the woman sitting across from her, Beckett thought.<p>

_Crazy eyes, Beckett. She has crazy eyes._

Shut up, Castle! She silently scolded. Of course her inner Castle would pick now to reappear.

"Do you recognize this knife, Mrs. Perkins?" Beckett asked, handing over a photo of the knife that had been used on Castle.

It turned out that Julie Perkins was not single. She was an older woman, married to a very successful and very busy attorney. She also lived in the exact opposite of a cramped apartment. The apartment she shared with her husband was all high ceilings and marble columns, with large windows looking out over Central Park. She didn't work, beyond her engagement in various philanthropic causes that were more an excuse to mix with high society than actually do good. Kate would relish telling Castle just how far off the mark he was with his pseudo-profile. That said, he was right about one thing: Mrs. Perkins was bored of her life. She also had a patent air of desperate loneliness hanging about her.

The woman in question glanced at the picture with a superior, condescending air. When she saw the knife, though, she froze.

"Where did you get this from?" she asked imperiously.

"This knife was used to carry out an assault," Beckett replied, watching her.

"A crime?" Her voice shook slightly, self-command slowly leeched away by sudden fear.

_How delightfully suspicious._

Not now, Castle.

"Is..." Mrs. Perkins' hands shook as she held the photo. She looked at Kate through fearful eyes. "Is John okay?"

_She doesn't know about the murder!_

"Ma'am," Beckett began gently. "John Crombie was murdered in his apartment yesterday morning."

"No!" Mrs. Perkins cried out. She covered her face with her hands and let out large, heaving sobs. "Not Johnny!" She wept loudly and freely. "Not my Johnny!"

_Awkward._

Beckett automatically looked to her left, where Castle would normally have been seated. Of course, the seat was empty.

"Ma'am," Beckett said, trying to get in a word edgewise, between the sobs. "Ma'am?"

No response, just more sobs.

Beckett gave up trying and instead handed the lady a handful of tissues from the box on the end table.

Mrs. Perkins finally looked up at Beckett through red-rimmed, tear-filled eyes as she took the tissues and used them to dab at her cheeks. "Who did this? Who would kill such a beautiful, transcendental soul?" she hiccupped, and then gave a regretful sigh. "I should have given him a rabbit's foot instead of a knife."

"Why did you give him the knife?" Beckett asked, knowing full well that was the kind of detail Castle would want an answer to. She didn't think it made a difference to the case.

"Because he had the heart of a warrior," the woman replied.

Right.

"Did you and Mr. Crombie have a fight at a recent exhibit?" Beckett returned to more pressing matters. "Witnesses saw you yell and throw your drink in his face."

Mrs. Perkins turned cold eyes on Beckett. "John was young. He didn't know what was good for him."

"And what was good for him?"

"Well," Mrs. Perkins looked at Beckett as though it were the stupidest question to ask, "me, of course. He painted for me, you know. I was his muse."

_Crazy eyes. I told you so._

"Were you..." Beckett tried to choose her words carefully. "...in a relationship with Mr. Crombie?"

"Dear, our souls were in communion."

"What did you husband think of this communion?"

"Andrew didn't know about the bond between me and Johnny." She sighed, a sound somewhere between cunning and sadness. "Andrew is so busy with work, I doubt he even noticed." Tears filled her eyes again. "This is my fault."

Beckett waited for the wave of grief to pass, before urging Mrs. Perkins along. "Your fault?"

"I overheard Johnny and his agent that night." Mrs. Perkins continued, "I should have said something."

"What did you overhear?"

"They were having a rather heated argument. I wanted to intervene, but by the time I got there, Johnny was letting some woman flirt with him." Disdain dripped from her words. "As though her soul were worthy of him."

"The argument, Mrs. Perkins," Beckett prodded patiently.

"Something about blackmail."

"What exactly did you hear?" Kate leaned forward, interest peaked. That was two leads pointing in the direction of blackmail.

"Mr. Fitzwilliam was telling Johnny to be careful, that blackmail wasn't something to be taken lightly. Johnny got quite upset; he said the integrity of art was more important than money, that he would part with a million dollars before he compromised his convictions." She sighed fondly, a fresh wave of tears appeared. "That was my Johnny," she told Beckett. "Such a wise soul."

"Where were you yesterday morning, between 3AM and 4AM, Mrs. Perkins?"

"My husband had one of those tiresome work parties on Friday night," she replied, still dabbing at her eyes. "We didn't leave until about three. Reached home at 4:30, can you imagine!" She was more animated now, as though sharing some scandalous secret. "We had to drop one of Andrew's partners to his home. I could drown a tanker in the amount of liquor that odious man had consumed. Abhorrent behaviour. You can ask the driver, he'd have the exact times." She paused, hesitating as she clutched the tissue in her hand. "Is that when my Johnny was killed?" She moved to the edge of the couch, leaning in to confide in Beckett. "I knew I felt something. I knew it. At the time I thought it was because Andrew's partner was throwing up all over my shoes, but it was really Johnny's soul saying goodbye to me." She let out a shuddering breath. "Oh, Johnny."

* * *

><p>Forty minutes later, Beckett was walking down the hospital hallway to Castle's room. He would have loved the interview with Mrs. Perkins, she thought. That woman was right up his alley: severely unhinged and oddly compelling. Just the right mix of crazy.<p>

She stopped outside his room, looking at her reflection in the fire emergency case on the wall. Kate rubbed the tiredness from her eyes as she tried to evaluate what she was feeling.

Anger and guilt were there, but she thought she'd suppressed them well enough. She didn't want to slap or shake or even hug Castle anymore. Beckett took a breath, readying herself to enter the room, when she registered the conversation coming from within.

"Guys," Castle was saying, "it was awesome. Epic. She leaped over a whole alley, from the door to the fire escape. And in those crazy high heels of hers." He sounded very unlike himself. Almost … loopy. "It was right out of the movies! For serious."

"Did you jump, too?" Ryan asked in an amused tone. He was clearly enjoying a drugged up Castle.

"Are you kidding me?" Castle scoffed. "I leave the heroics to the real heroes. And the crazy criminals."

"You were scared weren't you?" This from Esposito.

"Out of my mind." He acknowledged very seriously. "Do you know how high up we were? Five storeys!" He let out a deep breath. "I saw my life flash in front of my eyes, and she just – whooosh – leaped."

Kate smiled as she entered his room. His childish exuberance had vastly improved her mood. Like everything was perfectly normal. Like he didn't blame her for what had happened to him.

"I heard you were opening a flower shop," she teased, holding out a vase of flowers.

"Beckett!" Castle exclaimed happily. "I was just telling my captive audience about your superpowers!" As he watched her put the flowers at the foot of his bed, his eyes lit up. "Oooh! Super Becks brought me flowers! So. Pretty."

Kate arched an eyebrow at that. High as a kite.

Esposito and Ryan were grinning. She hazarded a glance at Alexis, whom she'd just noticed was in the room. Castle's daughter was watching her, looking … worried.

Beckett's good mood retreated, replaced with concern. With guilt.

"Sorry, Super Becks," Castle said, misinterpreting her frown. But then he perked up immediately. "But I do have millions. Of fans. In my audience that is. All captives. But by choice. So, you know," he looked from Ryan to Esposito, "you can't arrest me or anything. Although," he turned to Kate and gave a rather drunken version of his rakish grin, "I know you're a fan."

"How are you, Castle?" she asked, cutting him off before he could say more.

Castle sighed dramatically – thank goodness he was easily distracted. "I'm trying to hatch a plot to escape this vile, boring place. Tweedledee and Tweedledum," he gestured towards Ryan and Esposito, "refuse to help. At least the drugs are really, really good."

"Is he Tweedledee, or am I?" Esposito asked. Castle looked from him to Ryan, frowning in deep consideration of the question, while the two partners tried really hard not to let their grins break into laughs.

"How are you, Detective Beckett?" Alexis asked suddenly. The worry was still in her eyes, but Kate realized it was directed at her. "Dad said that you were pushed off the fire escape."

Four sets of eyes were now on her, all assessing. Kate was too surprised by this turn of events to reply. She'd expected Alexis' resentment, even hostility, not her concern.

"She has superpowers," Castle whispered not-so-subtly. "Bet she didn't feel a thing."

Esposito snorted. Ryan grinned. Alexis, however, was not so easily placated.

"I'm fine," Kate assured her. "Besides getting the wind knocked out of me, there was no damage." Alexis didn't look convinced. "I promise."

"Did the doctors take a look?" she insisted.

Kate knew very well that Ryan and Esposito would never ask her such a question, and though Castle would, she could deflect him. She knew equally well – based on what she'd learned about Alexis through Castle's anecdotes – that his daughter dealt with emotional upheaval by channeling her anxiety into empathy.

And Kate had not forgotten how terrified Alexis had looked last night.

"The paramedics took a look, Alexis," she replied, smiling warmly at Little Castle. "Over the counter painkillers and an ice pack are all I was prescribed."

"That's too bad," Castle said sympathetically. "I got the really good stuff. And a cool scar." He paused. "At least, I think it's cool. I can't see it yet because of all the bandages." He started lifting his robe to show Kate, but she quickly stopped him by grabbing his hands. Castle stilled abruptly and stared at her hands holding his.

She let go.

He looked up with a punch-drunk happy grin on his face, just staring moonily at her. Kate frowned. Apparently, he was on the really, really good stuff.

She realized that Esposito and Ryan were merrily looking from Castle to her, drawing all kinds of apparently enjoyable inferences from the way Castle was staring at her.

Kate didn't dare look at Alexis.

"Excuse me," Castle's doctor said, entering the room with blessedly perfect timing in Kate's opinion. "But I need a moment with the patient."

"The prison warden is here!" Castle exclaimed, turning away from Kate. Much to her relief.

"Good to see you, too, Mr. Castle." The doctor replied with a dry humour. Kate was quick to smother her grin, but Alexis caught her in the act. The redhead smiled tentatively at Kate, and then kissed Castle on the cheek.

"I'll be outside," she told him. "I promised Ashley I'd call with an update." She left the room, but not before casting a glance in Kate's direction.

Kate watched her go, not sure what to make of it.

"It was good to see you, bro," Esposito said.

"Feel better soon," Ryan added.

"Aw, you guys are leaving?" Castle's face fell comically.

"Hey," Esposito said, "if you hadn't fallen on a suspect armed with a knife, we might have had the afternoon off."

"We'll see you soon, Castle," Kate said, turning to follow Ryan and Esposito out. She wished she'd been able to spend a few moments alone with Castle, and at the same time she was relieved she hadn't.

"Come visit me soon!" He called after them as they exited the room. "And if I mysteriously disappear, the prison warden did it," he pointed at his doctor.

The doctor sighed, turning to look at Kate. "You may not believe me," he said, eyes sparkling, "but it's at times like this I think I don't get paid enough."

"You're telling me," Kate replied with a teasing glance in Castle's direction.

Once outside in the hallway, however, the three detectives were all business.

"How was your interview?" Esposito asked.

"She was definitely a few strokes short of an actual painting," Beckett said, netting matching nods of approval from Esposito and Ryan, "but she didn't do it. She and her husband alibi out. But Mrs. Perkins overheard Crombie and Fitzwilliam getting into an argument. It sounded like Crombie was being blackmailed. Which is funny, because Fitzwilliam didn't say a word about any argument when Castle and I first spoke with him."

"Crombie's assistant had no clue about the note we found. It had nothing to do with any of his projects," Ryan said.

"There's more," Esposito told them. "CSU called. They finished their second sweep of Crombie's studio. They found a trap door hidden under a stack of canvases. Inside the trap door, was a duffel bag full of cash." He paused, letting the thrill of the hunt sink in. Any detective worth their salt felt it in their bones when a set of leads fit so neatly together. "One hundred thousand in cash, to be precise."

Beckett looked from Ryan to Esposito. "One hundred thousand reasons for murder."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: **Don't own

**A/N:** Next chapter will be posted Thursday at the latest, barring something unforeseen happening. Thanks for your patience. It'll be worth the wait, though. Lots of drama in chapter 6...

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><p><strong>The Art of Living 58**

Beckett entered the interrogation room that held Arthur Fitzwilliam. She was done playing nice.

"You lied to me, Mr. Fitzwilliam." Beckett stood across the table from him. She rested her palms on the smooth metal of the table and leaned forward. "You told me you could think of no one who would want John Crombie dead. And yet we found this," she slid the photo of the blackmail letter across the table, "in John's studio, along with one hundred thousand dollars." She watched him for a reaction. "We also have a witness who saw you and John arguing about blackmail threats."

He was clearly startled. After a moment, during which she watched the debate take place in his blue eyes, he sighed heavily. His straight-backed posture lost a little bit of its starch.

"I should have told you the truth upfront, I admit," he said.

"You should have," Beckett agreed.

"I'm sorry I didn't," he shook his head ruefully. "If I had, then maybe Mr. Castle would not have gotten hurt." He looked at Beckett, then, an eyebrow raised in concern. "The blogs are saying he lost part of his spleen." He was clearly fishing, even if he was doing it very smoothly.

"That's between Mr. Castle and his doctors," Beckett replied, feeling protective of Castle. Truth was, Fitzwilliam wasn't the first to fish. She'd been hounded by more than one reporter since Castle had gotten hurt and she found the dogged invasion of his privacy appalling. Luckily, Captain Gates insisted on fielding each and every call from the media personally, so Beckett could refer them all to the captain and save her focus for the case.

Fitzwilliam smiled slightly, eyes dancing with what Beckett was tempted to call amusement. All of a sudden she felt transparent. She shifted slightly, but refused to break eye contact.

"I didn't mean to pry." He put his hands up in a gesture of apology. "I do hope he's okay."

"Richard Castle will make a full recovery," she replied formally, and then used the opportunity to shift them back to the interview. "But that's not what we're here to discuss."

"Of course," he said. "My ... omission is the reason for this interview."

Beckett knew how to use silence as effectively as actual questions. She said nothing, only watched Fitzwilliam patiently.

He cleared his throat uneasily.

"John had been acting strangely recently. Nervous. On edge," he began. "At first, I thought it was because he wasn't taking his medication. Paranoia was not uncommon for him. But then, he asked me for money. A lot of it. I refused to give it to him unless he told me why. That's when it came out," Fitzwilliam said. He spoke as though the truth tore at a deep part of his heart. "He was being blackmailed."

"By whom?" Kate took a seat across from the agent, easing her antagonistic body language slightly.

"I don't know," he said helplessly.

"Did you give him the money, Mr. Fitzwilliam?"

He nodded. "John was like a son to me. I couldn't refuse." Fitzwilliam leaned forward, earnest. "I begged him to tell me who the money was for, what the blackmail was about, but he refused. He could be so stubborn when he wanted to. He said he was dealing with dangerous elements." He dropped his eyes to the table. "I had to let it go. To my eternal shame and regret, I let it go. I thought that if Johnny gave the money to whomever was blackmailing him, he'd be safe."

"Mr. Fitzwilliam," Beckett waited for him to look at her. "You must have some idea as to what this was about. John was like a son to you."

The agent hesitated. "John worked so hard to get to where he was." He looked Beckett in the eye, "I don't want to see him lose all that. If the truth gets out ... I don't even know what it is. How can I protect him?"

"Mr. Fitzwilliam, the best you can do for John now is to help him find his justice."

He nodded. "You're right," he said reluctantly. "Of course, you're right." It took Fitzwilliam a moment more to convince himself, and then he said: "John started hanging out with a disreputable crowd, just a few months ago. People he'd known from back in his foster kid days. I didn't want them dragging him down, but he insisted they were like family to him."

"You think someone from his past had a hand in this?"

Fitzwilliam nodded. "I was serious when I said that fame brings all sorts out of the woodwork. When people think you've hit it big, they see you as an easy ticket."

"Do you have any names?"

"One of them was named Rocky, I think?" Fitzwilliam said. "That's all I know. John didn't say much about them, and after a while, I just stopped asking."

* * *

><p>Beckett stepped into the observation room, where Ryan and Esposito were watching Fitzwilliam through the glass.<p>

"Does the name Rocky ring any bells?" she asked.

They both shook their heads.

Beckett ran a hand through her hair. "Alright. We need to dig through Crombie's past. He was a tagger, he has a record. Did you make any progress looking into old associates?"

"We did," Esposito said. "But the name Rocky didn't come up. We'll run their names again and see if they acquired any new aliases."

"And we'll make sure Fitzwilliam's story checks out," Ryan added. "Call in for his financials. Should be here by morning."

"So you can go home and rest that headache you're pretending you don't have," Esposito said, shoulders squared.

Beckett looked at the two, challenge brewing in her eyes and on the tip of her tongue. Then she noted that they both had their stubborn faces on. Beckett sighed. She might have been able to fight Ryan on this, but not Esposito. Besides, she was nearing 40 hours without sleep and she couldn't deny that her fall yesterday was taking a toll on her. The dull ache at the base of her skull was starting to sharpen, as was the soreness in her muscles. A warm bath would do just the trick.

She smiled at them, touched by their support.

But they didn't get mushy with each other, so she settled with: "Call me if anything comes up."

"We will, boss."

"Bet on it," Ryan said warmly.

* * *

><p>The next morning, somewhat refreshed – she'd managed six straight hours of a deep, dreamless sleep due to sheer exhaustion – and only somewhat stiff, Beckett sat at her desk reading through everything the boys had pulled on Crombie. An empty mug of coffee was already resting on the pictures of graffiti Crombie had painted in his earlier days. She had to catch up before the boys showed, after all.<p>

Beckett was just about up to par when Ryan and Esposito walked in.

"Morning, Beckett."

"Morning, guys," she replied.

Ryan walked up to her desk and set down a take-away cup of coffee. "Strict instructions from Castle," he explained.

Beckett didn't even consider hiding her smile. "Thanks."

"For Super Becks, he told me." Ryan and Esposito were both grinning.

Of course. Beckett sighed, half-amused, half-embarrassed. She was not going to live that down any time soon.

"I also have Fitzwilliam's financials," Ryan said. "A withdrawal of one hundred thousand dollars from one of his many nest egg accounts."

"So he was telling the truth." She warmed her hands on the fresh cup of coffee.

"Man." Ryan shook his head. "Imagine dropping a hundred thousand just like that."

"They must have been really close," Esposito said.

"Or desperate," Ryan commented.

They both looked at Beckett, who couldn't help but remember the time Castle had done much the same, just to give her a chance at finding the truth for her mother.

"Alright," she said, standing up. "Crombie has a couple of arrests under his belt, all misdemeanours, all for tagging." She turned to the two men.

"No gang activity," Ryan said. "No drug running."

"There are a few of guys he was known to associate with at the time," Esposito continued, "but none who go by the alias of 'Rocky'."

"Of course not," Beckett said wryly. "That would be too easy."

"So either Rocky is a new alias," Esposito began.

"Fitzwilliam was mistaken," Ryan continued.

"Or he's lying," Beckett concluded. "His financials corroborate his story, though."

All three stared at the murderboard.

"Castle was useful at times like this," Ryan said.

Esposito jabbed him in the side with his elbow, throwing a surreptitious look at Beckett and muttering, "dude, no."

"We've solved cases without Castle before," Beckett reminded them, amused by their antics, but feeling the need nonetheless to assert that everything wasn't about to fall apart just because Castle was … hurt. "You'll do just fine without him to hold your hand. Or," she teased, "do you miss sharing notes and braiding each other's hair?"

"Detective Beckett?"

The three detectives turned at the sound of Alexis' hesitant voice. Esposito and Ryan exchanged concerned, curious looks.

"Alexis?" Kate stared at the girl. Alexis was just about the last person she would expect to see in the precinct when Castle wasn't around. "Shouldn't you be in school?"

"I'm actually on my way to the hospital," she explained. "They're releasing Dad today."

"Right, of course," she said, and then not knowing what else to do, added: "Please, have a seat," she gestured her towards Castle's usual chair. "Is everything okay?"

"How's your dad doing?" Ryan asked as Alexis and Beckett both sat.

"He's alright. The doctors were initially going to keep him another night, but I think the nurses are threatening to go on strike if he isn't released today."

Ryan and Esposito chuckled, but with only the slightest tilt of her head from Beckett, they got the hint. Quickly, though admittedly without much finesse, offering excuses about following up on leads, they made themselves scarce by going back to their desks.

Beckett focused her attention on Alexis. She noted the dark circles beneath the younger girl's eyes.

"How are you?" she asked.

Alexis shrugged.

"Are you getting any sleep?" Beckett persisted.

"Well, I was so exhausted last night, that when Gram and I got home I just collapsed into bed. But..." Alexis trailed off, nervously picking at a groove in Kate's desk.

"Nightmares?" Beckett asked sympathetically.

Alexis nodded slowly, head bowed.

"It's not unusual, Alexis. This is a very stressful, emotional situation to be in. Your body has to process it, and sometimes that can mean bad dreams."

She cleared her throat, wouldn't make eye contact with Kate. "Well, I couldn't really sleep this morning, so I woke up early," she was rambling, speaking quickly, each word clipping at the heels of the last. Much in the way Castle did when he was nervous. "And I didn't really have anything better to do and I wanted to, well, apologize for my behaviour yesterday and thank you for being so nice even though I was a complete jerk so I made you cookies." She reached into her purse, pulled out a container and handed it to Kate. All without making eye contact.

Kate was left a little dizzy by the whole thing. She looked down at the container as she took it from Alexis.

This was just about the most adorable thing she'd ever seen. It was no wonder Castle was so continually enamoured with his daughter. By all rights, Alexis should be furious with her, not giving her homemade cookies. Then again, this was the girl who'd snuck into a store to pay for what her friends had shoplifted, the kid who'd cried because she had once – under mitigating circumstances – skipped paying the subway fare. Guilt, Kate thought, is the last thing this girl needs to carry around.

Kate put the cookies down on her desk and took Alexis' fidgeting hands in her own.

"Please," she said, waiting until she caught the young girl's eye. "Don't apologize."

Alexis looked like she was about to cry again, looking so full of regret. "But what I said to you…it wasn't right … I reacted terribly and-"

"It's okay, Alexis," Kate cut her off before Alexis was forced to struggle anymore for what she wanted to say. "You were angry and worried, and that's perfectly alright."

"I'm still sorry," she mumbled, shamefaced.

"None of that," Kate said firmly.

Alexis didn't look convinced. "But-"

"There's no need to apologize." Kate said again. "Trust me: I understand how you must have felt. And it's okay." She offered a reassuring smile. "I don't bruise easy."

Alexis was now staring at her, some unidentifiable expression on her face. So Kate squeezed Alexis' hands one last time before letting go. She reached for the container of cookies and pried open the lid.

"You know," she began conversationally, eyeing the delectable treats in the box. "Your dad usually brings me a bear claw if he comes in early enough in the morning." She gave Alexis a conspiratorial wink, grinning slyly. "This is way better."

Alexis laughed, which is what Kate was aiming for.

"Are you working on Dad's case?" Alexis asked, looking around Kate's desk.

With a quick glance to make sure Alexis wasn't traumatized by the idea of it, Beckett decided sharing a few details wouldn't hurt.

"We're working the case we were working before your dad became a…" Beckett could hardly say victim. "An unintended casualty."

"A well-meaning unintended casualty," Alexis interjected, but she was smiling.

"Of course," Beckett agreed, relieved with how Alexis was handling this. Relieved and admiring.

Sensing the coast was clear, Esposito and Ryan wandered back to Beckett's desk.

"Hey," Alexis said as her eyes caught the pictures of Crombie's early graffiti. "That looks like Cranker's work."

"Cranker? Who's Cranker?" Esposito asked as he dug into the container on Beckett's desk to pull out a handful of cookies. His look dared Beckett to challenge his right to oatmeal butterscotch chip. When Beckett didn't protest, Ryan followed suit and grabbed his own handful of treats.

"He's an anonymous street artist," Beckett explained as Ryan and Esposito munched on the cookies. "Paints on the sides of buildings, bridges, even concrete dividers. Usually some kind of political statement. No one knows his real identity."

"He became an international phenomenon after last summer, when his works showed up in Europe," Alexis continued.

"And now defacing property is art," Esposito said disapprovingly.

"Hey, one person's garbage is another's art."

Beckett raised her eyebrows at how Alexis' response was almost an exact echo of her father's.

Esposito wasn't scowling at Alexis, but it was a near thing.

Beckett opened the browser on her computer and searched works by Cranker. She held the photos they had of Crombie's earlier work against the screen.

"You're right," Beckett said, looking from one image to the other. It was a rather ingenious observation, actually. Once pointed out, the similarities weren't too hard to spot. Alexis had a good eye.

"Well I'll be." Ryan was impressed.

"You may just have earned us our paycheque," Esposito joked.

Alexis was beaming.

"So Crombie," Beckett said, picking up the marker for the murderboard, "Is actually Cranker." She drew an arrow connecting 'blackmail' to Crombie's picture. "Which means," she turned to face her colleagues, "whoever was blackmailing Crombie was also blackmailing Cranker."

Ryan was already at his computer screen, pulling up the rap sheet for 'Cranker'. "It says here that a Rockefeller Gates was arrested under suspicion of being Cranker only six months ago. And," Ryan gave a Castle-esque dramatic pause, "Rockefeller also goes by alias 'Rocky'."

"I'll put out an APB," Esposito said, already flipping open his phone.

Kate grinned at Alexis, who was watching the sudden flurry of activity with breathless interest. "Thanks, Alexis."

"No problem," the redhead replied. "Wow," she marvelled. "I can see why dad enjoys coming here so much. It can be..."

"A rush?" Kate supplied,

"He must be like a kid in a candy store here," she said, looking around the precinct like she'd never seen it before.

"Yeah," Ryan replied. "But we like you better."

Esposito nodded in agreement as he put away his phone. "You come with cookies."

* * *

><p>Kate entered the elevator in Castle's building and leaned heavily against the wall. The day had been draining. They'd put an APB out on Rocky aka Rockefeller Gates, but until he was apprehended, there wasn't much Kate and her team could do. Except, that is, attend a press conference on the mayor's orders.<p>

She was dreading the headlines tomorrow. Her only hope was that Castle was not as big a celebrity as he thought he was, and the article would be buried somewhere between obituaries and used car classifieds.

In other words: she had very little hope.

The stress of that ridiculous press conference had only exacerbated her low-grade headache. And she still wasn't fully recovered from being pushed off the fire escape. She'd finished the last of the painkillers in her drawer before the press conference. So after a long day, not only her head but her back and shoulders hurt too.

Despite it all, though, she couldn't fathom going home without first checking on Castle. It helped that she'd reached a detente of sorts with Alexis, an understanding. It made it easier for Kate to live with herself. So here she stood, Remi's burgers and milkshakes in hand, waiting for the elevator to reach Castle's floor.

* * *

><p>Castle sat next to Alexis on the living room couch, watching repeats of Game of Thrones. Since the stabbing incident, she'd been especially clingy and solicitous towards him. To be expected, Castle thought, but he didn't like the worry that was constantly lurking in his usually upbeat daughter's eyes. He held her close as they cuddled, mindful of his stitches and the dull ache in his side. At least he was able to stay awake for more than five minutes now, and move around, so Alexis could witness for herself that he was doing okay.<p>

"Dad?"

"Yes, pumpkin?"

"I was so scared when Detective Beckett told me what happened."

Castle hugged his daughter more tightly. "I'm sorry, Alexis."

"And angry," she continued. "I was so mad." She shifted so she could look at him. Guilt shrouded her. "I may have said some terrible things to her the night you got hurt." She looked away. "I may have yelled."

Castle went still. He hadn't thought … hadn't expected-

"I'm sorry, Dad."

"It's not me you need to apologize to," he pointed out. "But I'm sure Beckett understands, honey."

"I went to the precinct this morning, to say sorry." She looked up at him again, expression now earnest. "I baked Detective Beckett cookies."

Castle would have gladly given away half his comic collection just to see the look on Kate's face at being handed a tin of cookies by Alexis, in the middle of the precinct. He couldn't help his smile.

"She was very understanding. And … nice." Alexis fell silent for a few moments, and he waited for her to gather her thoughts. "Detective Beckett was nice that night, too, even though I said all these hurtful things to her." She studied his face. "I do like her, and it wasn't fair of me to get mad at her after what you told me, about why you were going back after the summer." She paused, still watching him intently.

He said nothing because he wasn't quite ready for where this conversation seemed to be heading.

"But I don't think I want you to go back after this," She indicated his abdomen with a wave of her hand.

"Alexis." He rallied himself for the impending chat with his daughter. He wasn't ready to give up the precinct. He wasn't ready to give up Kate. He wasn't ready to give up.

"I know you feel responsible for her, Dad, but doesn't this make you even?"

Castle didn't really know what to say, beyond 'no, not even close,' so he just held her tighter, resting his chin on top of Alexis' head.

"You're still going back aren't you?"

He nodded, his chin rubbing against her hair.

"Is it because of her?"

"It's because of me, pumpkin."

Alexis sighed.

He wanted to promise he'd be extra careful, but he couldn't quite explain to Alexis what he'd felt when he saw Kate being flung off that fire escape. It still filled him with equal parts fury and terror, just to think about it.

"Don't be mad at Beckett," he said, instead of choosing this moment to start making empty promises to Alexis. "This is my decision. Life, Alexis," he looked down to make sure he had her full attention. "Life is for living. What's the point of hiding, of being afraid, of playing it safe?" He raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips. "Bo-ooring. It's a waste. If you learn one thing from me, learn that."

"You're the farthest it gets from boring," she offered with an affectionate smile.

He tipped his head in thanks, but Alexis was back to studying him, sizing him up.

"What?"

"Is that what you're trying to do for Detective Beckett?" she asked. "You think she's hiding?"

Ever so perceptive, his daughter was. Then again, she'd read all his early drafts for each Nikki Heat novel, in which Nikki made choices Kate wouldn't dare make for herself.

Castle sighed.

"I wish I could do that for her." He ran his fingers through Alexis' hair, more to soothe him than her. "But it's not something you can do for someone else, especially not someone who's been through what Detective Beckett has. She has to get there on her own."

He saw a new light in his daughter's eyes, as she looked at him. "You're a good person, Dad."

"It took you so long to figure that out?" He feigned affront. "I'm the paragon of awesomeness, I'll have you know."

Alexis rolled her eyes.

A knock sounded at the door, causing both of them to look up.

"Ah, vindication," he said, grinning at her. "That is undoubtedly a well-wisher, come to fawn over your father's heroics." He pointed a finger at his chest. "Awesome."

"You're just lucky the mayor likes you enough to spin this story to the media," she told him. She stood up to see who was at the door.

Castle grinned. It was incredibly helpful to have a good friend in the mayor. And – yet another bright side – he had a really cool, manly, heroic scar. He'd checked when the nurse had last changed his dressings.

"Detective Beckett!" he heard Alexis say. Castle's grin widened. Both because Beckett was there and because Alexis sounded at least a little pleased at seeing who their guest was, rather than upset. He stood up gingerly and made his way to the front door.

"I brought Remi's," Beckett was saying to Alexis. "There's enough for four."

"Milkshakes! They're my favourite." Alexis took their dinner and headed towards the kitchen. "I'll get plates."

Kate nodded absently, more intent on watching him. Castle's grin was wide enough to hurt his teeth.

"Hey," he said as he neared her.

"Hey," she replied softly. She nodded in the direction Alexis had gone with Remi's take-out. "To make up for our aborted dinner," she explained.

There was something in her eyes, though. Worry? Fear? Hesitance? Guilt? All of the above?

"Alexis tells me she may have behaved horribly with you," he said out of his daughter's earshot. He watched Kate for a reaction. "I'm sorry for that."

She was quick to shake her head. "Castle," she berated. "There's no need. She was scared." Kate paused. "We all were."

She was looking at him in that way of hers, shy and brave, smiling and scolding. Adorable.

Despite the pain in his side and the tiredness in Kate, he suddenly felt very happy.

"How are you?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be resting?"

"I'm great," he replied, meaning it. "Healing like a champion. Plus, the whole city thinks I'm a hero, which is so cool." He grinned when she shook her head at him in reproof.

"How are you?" he asked. By now, he had heard from Alexis and Martha about how she'd handled the situation, how she'd been a rock for Alexis. Not that he'd expected any less. Nonetheless, he didn't even know how to begin to thank her. He'd have to think of something good, something epic, something on the scale of carving her face into a mountainside or … well, he'd already dedicated a series of books to her. A series of books based on her, in fact. Should've saved his best moves for last, he thought. What an amateur play.

She shrugged. There was that thing in her eyes again. Dark and worrying. This time, he recognized it. Of course, he thought, startled. He was an idiot for not seeing it earlier. The parallels were eerie, even for him. Stabbed. In an alley.

He refused to let her fall into the dreaded rabbit hole over this.

"I'm fine, Kate," he told her, taking a step closer to her. "I'm here."

He wanted to take her hand in his, but he rarely touched her. Looking had always been just as good when it came to her. The way she filled his vision touched his heart.

"I'm sorry," she said. "For-"

"Stop, no," he said, to forestall whatever she might have wanted to say. "This isn't your fault."

She bit her lip, eyes suspiciously bright, and let out a slow, trembling breath. She stepped towards him, carefully slipped her hands over his waist, and wound her arms around him. Her body was soft as she pressed into him. He could feel her warm breath through the vee of his shirt.

Holy. Space. Cowboys.

Kate Beckett was hugging him.

He enthusiastically hugged her back, putting his arms around her and holding on as tight as the stitches in his side would allow. He breathed in the cherries of her hair.

"Totally worth getting stabbed for," he informed her.

"Don't joke," she admonished, mumbling against his chest.

He wasn't joking. Part of his spleen in exchange for a hug from Kate? Totally worth it.

Long after Castle had lost all sense of time, Kate pulled out of his embrace. He didn't comment about the sheen in her eyes, but still she awkwardly fidgeted, not quite able to look at him. So of course he stared at her and made mental notes about how pretty and enchanting she looked.

"Castle," she huffed. "Stop staring."

Like that would ever happen.

"Kate!" Martha exclaimed, catching sight of them as she descended the staircase.

She swept over to Beckett and wrapped her up in a grateful hug. "Oh, darling, thank you for looking out for Alexis. And Richard."

"It was no problem, Martha," Kate hugged his mother in surprise. She looked at Martha – or rather, avoided looking at Martha – in the same way Alexis had avoided looking at him on the couch just minutes ago. "I ... I wanted to apologize, for what happened-"

"Katherine Beckett," Martha scolded. She locked eyes with Beckett as she held her firmly by the shoulders. "Don't you dare. I've been Richard's mother for long enough to know that my darling son doesn't need help getting into trouble."

Castle watched Beckett nod slowly, but she wasn't fully convinced. The last thing he needed was her feeling responsible for what had happened. It would do neither of them any good, he thought worriedly.

"Getting out of it, however," Martha said dramatically, casting a glance at him. She was clearly trying to tease that sudden somberness out of Kate's demeanour, "is another matter altogether."

"Hey, I'll have you know I was heroically saving the city from criminal elements," he protested, catching on to his mother's ploy.

His mother gave him a glance that was equal parts fondness and exasperation, before turning her focus back on Kate.

"Tell me," she said, giving the detective a concerned once-over. "How are you? Richard said you took a tumble."

"I'm fine," she assured, "Not even a bruise."

"Super powers," Castle chimed in playfully. "I told you. Can leap from tall buildings in a single bound."

"Oh, Richard, really." Martha dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She wound her arm through Kate's and led her towards the kitchen. "You're staying for dinner," she announced instead. "I will not take no for an answer."

"There's no reasoning with her when she's like this," Castle informed Beckett, contentedly trudging along behind them. The longer they kept Kate, the more she would realize that his family held no grudge against her for his injury.

"This from the man who, only yesterday, was convinced his nurse wanted to murder him in his sleep," Martha threw over her shoulder.

"She had crazy eyes!" Castle protested. "Crazy eyes!"


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: **Don't own

**A/N:** Okay, so I finished this and it's all polished and nice and I figured you guys wouldn't mind an extra chapter this weekend. But the next one will be on Thursday, because I don't think I'll have internet access until then. If that changes, you'll be the first to know!

This is another one of those chapters that took very many takes…

* * *

><p>Kate was seated cross-legged on top of an examination table in the morgue, two cups of coffee in hand, when Lanie walked into the room.<p>

"You're late," Kate said.

Lanie looked up, startled. "What have I told you about sneaking up on me down here?"

"I brought you coffee," Kate handed her one of the paper cups. "You know who else was late coming in today?" she couldn't help but tease. "A certain detective you seem to be spending a lot of time with."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Lanie replied, her grin positively Machiavellian.

"Of course you don't," Kate said with a practiced air of innocence. "And that isn't a rug burn I see on your elbow."

Lanie was about to look at her elbow, but stopped herself just in time. She narrowed her eyes at Kate.

"Katherine Beckett," she scolded, her eyes dancing with laughter.

Their stand-off lasted for about a second, during which both tried to keep a straight face, before they giggled like schoolgirls.

"What brings you down here at this hour anyways? And with coffee?" Lanie took a sip of the drink once their laughter had tapered off. "Not that I'm complaining."

"It … has to do with Castle." Kate said, suddenly intent on staring at the lid on her coffee.

"Writer-boy?" Lanie asked. "You still not ready to let him back?"

"No," Kate shook her head. "Well..." she huffed an impatient breath. "Lanie," she began plaintively, leaning back against the wall. "I don't know what to do."

"You like having him around." Lanie said, as though it was obvious and as simple as that. "It's okay to admit it."

"I've admitted it," Kate defended. "It's just …you know, now Alexis is…" Kate didn't know how to say it.

"Also all puppy-eyed around you?" Lanie supplied.

Kate looked at her in surprise, her cheeks suddenly warm. "I wouldn't put it quite like that."

"I got the 411 from Javi." Lanie arched an eyebrow. "Said Little Castle showed up with cookies for you."

"Can you believe it?" Kate shook her head, eyes wide. She'd spent all night thinking about it. "She wanted to apologize for getting upset at me when I told her that her dad was in the hospital." She looked down again, fiddled with the sleeve on her coffee cup. "After I pretty much put him in there."

"You did not put him in there."

"We both know I could've stopped it from happening. If I'd taken the suspect down. And it could have been so much worse." Just the thought of it made it a little difficult to breathe. "How would I have faced Alexis then?"

"Nuh-uh. We are not having this conversation again. If you want to throw yourself a pity party, you're going to have to do it somewhere else. There is no pity in this morgue."

Kate couldn't help the grin that escaped.

"I'm serious," Lanie said, misinterpreting her smile for disbelief. "And what do you expect from the poor girl? She was raised by a single dad with terrible taste in women." At Kate's raised eyebrow, she quickly added, "until you, of course."

"Thanks."

"She's just trying to make sure you stick around."

And that terrible squeezing of her heart, that constricting of her lungs came out in full force.

Kate buried her head in her hands. There was just so much to deal with. "Oh, Lanie..."

"Honey," her voice was soothing. "I know you're scared-"

"Terrified, Lanie." She looked up at Lanie through the cracks between her fingers. "Terrified."

Lanie watched her, concern evident in her dark eyes.

Kate sighed, dropping her hands and telling herself to man up. "But I'm working on it. I went back to see the therapist, after my psych eval."

Lanie's eyes widened.

"I know," Kate said. "Big step. Tell me about it. But Castle was right … I was losing myself again. I … I don't want to be that person who always settles for less, who waits for things to go wrong, who forgets how to … love."

"Katherine Beckett, you are not that person," Lanie said forcefully.

Kate wasn't so sure. "I thought maybe I didn't have to be, but with what happened ... maybe it's a sign"

"You don't believe in signs."

"Castle does."

"He also believes in aliens and body snatchers and the walking dead."

Kate had to smile.

"You are not that person Kate Beckett," Lanie repeated. "You just have to … remind yourself of it every once in a while."

Easier said than done, Kate thought. She sighed yet again.

"You know the thing I admire most about him, Lanie? The way he just … lets himself feel. He's not afraid; he's not ashamed of it. And he sticks to his guns no matter what. I want to be able to do that. He makes me want to be able to do that. Just dive in..." She looked at Lanie, and was surprised by what she saw. "Are you crying?"

"Damn straight I'm crying!" Lanie exclaimed, not even bothering to wipe away her tears as she pulled Kate into a bone-crushing hug. "I'm not made of stone!" She held Kate tight. "I'm so happy. This is what I've wanted for you since the day we met."

Kate returned the embrace. "You're a good friend, Lanie." You make me think I can do this, she added silently.

"The best, Katie," she scolded, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm the best."

Kate could only laugh, even though so many questions were left unanswered. Even though the conflict still raged on inside her and sucked the breath out of her better intentions.

"You're the best," she agreed – at least that much was known fact – just as her cellphone buzzed. Lanie pulled away, wiping at her eyes while Kate read the text message.

"Uniforms found Rocky," she informed Lanie. "They're bringing him in."

* * *

><p>Beckett had given herself a few minutes to watch a nervous, fidgeting Rocky from the observation room, so when she entered the interrogation room with a quick, confident step, she knew she'd get Rocky's attention. When she slammed the door shut behind her, she knew she'd make him flinch. And when she threw the files she was carrying on the table in front of them, pictures of Cranker's work and Crombie's early graffiti fanning out, she knew the colour would drain from his face.<p>

"You are in a whole world of trouble, Rockefeller Gates," Beckett said, pulling out her chair and taking a seat. "Or should I say Marcus Titshaw," she allowed herself a pause and a smirk. "I bet the kids really made fun of you in school."

Marcus was watching her. His head was shaved, his face rough, his ears pierced and his forearms tattooed. And, if it hadn't seemed incongruous on a person so weathered by the heartless beatings of a life fighting the streets, Beckett would have said he looked afraid.

The odd juxtaposition of tough guy image and wary eyes gave Beckett pause.

"Defacement of property. Criminal mischief," she read through his rap sheet. "Theft, B&E, assault. You've been in and out of jail since your late teens," she observed.

Marcus chose to keep his silence.

"It must have killed you to see John Crombie doing so well. You tagged together as teenagers, you lived in the same foster home for two years." Her voice gained intensity as she spoke. "And now while you're stuck eking out a living through petty theft, living the hard life, your friend Johnny was making a real name for himself, selling his work for tens of thousands of dollars."

He swallowed heavily, fidgeted in his chair.

"Except you knew the truth, you figured out who Crombie really was." Beckett placed photos of Crombie's early graffiti and Cranker's more recent work in front of Marcus. "And you thought: knowledge is money. You knew Cranker's real identity and it was going to cost Crombie a lot of money to keep you quiet."

Marcus' eyes widened. He looked almost offended. "I would never blackmail Johnny," he protested.

Ah, Beckett thought. So he speaks.

She slid the blackmail letter towards him, sealed in plastic. "Your prints are all over this, Marcus. You threatened to reveal that Crombie was really Cranker. So what happened? Crombie refused to pay you? Is that why you killed him?"

"I didn't-" He stopped, fumbled. Sweat beaded on his brow. "It wasn't-"

"Where were you between 3AM and 4AM on Saturday, Marcus?" she asked, meeting his eyes with a fierce steadiness.

Marcus did a double take at the sudden shift in the interrogation. "I, I was crashing at a friend's place."

"Can your friend verify that?" She maintained eye contact, making sure he didn't have the option to look away.

"He wasn't home that night," Marcus shifted uneasily in his chair.

"How convenient," Beckett's sarcasm wasn't easy to miss. "You killed Crombie and then you went back to look for the money." She paused. "It was under the floorboards, by the way."

Marcus' eyes widened in surprise.

"You would've found it eventually," she assured him, holding his gaze. "If we hadn't interrupted you."

He looked away.

"Do you know who you stabbed in that alley, Marcus?"

His adam's apple bobbed up and down. He still didn't look at her.

"You stabbed Richard Castle."

That caught his full attention. He stared at her, jaw gaping. He leaned forward. "Wait. Richard Castle the writer?" he asked, face suddenly ashen when she nodded. "Are you sure?"

Beckett nodded again. It took Marcus a moment to process this news.

"I…I love his books." He slumped back in his chair, ashamed."I read them in the prison library. Man," he muttered miserably, "I almost killed my favourite author." He looked up at Beckett. "He looks really different in his pictures. Nothing like in real life."

Beckett stared at Marcus. That was a confession. Oh goodness, Castle was going to love this story.

He looked at Beckett with sudden interest. "Wait, does that mean you're Nikki Heat?"

Beckett resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Barely.

Marcus swallowed thickly, looked tired and guilty and ashamed. "I messed up," he said, staring at his hands, voice heavy. "I messed up everything."

"He's a pretty famous guy, Richard Castle. A son of this city." Beckett said, taking advantage of Marcus' apparent remorse. "You won't be able to show your face in public once it gets out you stabbed New York's own Richard Castle. The DA's a big fan. So is the mayor. Not to mention half the judges in the city."

He ran his hands over his face, shifty-eyed. "It wasn't … I didn't … I thought he was someone else. The fancy clothes. The slicked hair."

Beckett studied him, trying to gauge if he was feeding her a story, or being honest.

"I identified us as police, Marcus. That excuse won't work here."

"But the other guy – Richard Castle – he just looked so angry, I thought he–" Marcus stopped abruptly, as though catching himself.

"You thought he what?"

He watched her, seemed to be weighing his options.

"Stop lying, Marcus," Beckett said, giving Marcus her most intimidating glare. "I'm all you've got. Tell me what happened, and I'll make sure the DA goes easy on you. I'm in your corner on this."

There was a sudden spark in his eyes. It looked like relief. "You … you can keep me safe?"

"When it hits the papers tomorrow that you're the guy who stabbed Richard Castle, I'll be your only friend in the city."

"Okay, look, it was me. I did it." He said it almost eagerly. "I went to Johnny's studio that night, I grabbed the knife right before you came in, and I used it on Richard Castle."

"What about Crombie's murder?"

"That…" There was a hint of hesitation, the fraction of a moment where his eyes flicked away from hers before returning. "That was me, too. I … I knocked on his door. Knew he'd be there. I killed him."

The hesitation gave Beckett pause. "Why did you kill him?"

"Does it matter?" he asked in exasperation.

"Why did you do it, Marcus."

"Because I wanted money. He owed me. All those times I watched his back when we were kids, so he could play with his paints. He hits it big and he forgets about me!" He slammed his fist down on the table. "Does it really matter! He's dead, okay! He's dead and I did it."

There was desperation behind his words, not anger. This was the guy who'd stabbed Castle, Beckett was convinced. She wasn't so sure he was the one who'd killed Crombie.

A knock resounded on the two-way window behind her. Gates, Beckett realized, had been listening in. And that knock was an order to end the interview. She handed Marcus a pad of paper and a pen.

"Write it down," she said as she stood up. He nodded, a little too eagerly, as he took the pen from her.

Beckett exited interrogation, and entered the observation room.

"He's hiding something," she told Gates, who was waiting for her.

"He's scared," Gates said. She looked sideways at Beckett, eyebrow raised. "He thinks the DA and the mayor have a vendetta against him for hurting a son of the city."

Beckett frowned. The way she said it sounded very critical.

"He confessed to attacking Castle," Beckett said. "And breaking into a crime scene, but I'm not sure about his involvement in Crombie's murder."

"We have his prints on the blackmail letter," Gates said pointedly. "He knew Crombie was Cranker. We have him breaking into the crime scene, the same crime scene we found a hundred thousand dollars in. Most importantly, we have a confession."

All circumstantial evidence as far as Crombie's case was concerned, Beckett thought. She doubted she could say as much without Gates accusing her of thinking like a lawyer again. And she could hardly say she had a gut feeling that something was wrong.

"I just need a few more minutes with him-"

"We have enough for the DA to put him away for a long time," Gates cut her off. "This is a win, Detective Beckett. I'll update the mayor." The captain turned on her heel and walked out of the room.

Beckett turned towards the window to watch Marcus write out his confession. She was not at all happy with how this was playing out. Marcus was hiding something, and she was going to find out what it was.

* * *

><p>"So he was a fan?" Castle asked Beckett, who was seated at the breakfast bar across from him. Alexis was seated next to Beckett, and all three of them were enjoying an impromptu dessert session with slices of cake in celebration of the arrest Kate had come to inform them about. It was so cool that Beckett – of all the detectives in the world – had solved his case. He loved seeing her in action, and the thought of her hunting down evidence, staring down recalcitrant suspects, tying leads together with that sharp mind of hers, all for him … The thought of it made him giddy. It also made him want to write – he'd pounded out two chapters today, despite the need for frequent naps.<p>

"It was the reason he admitted to it," Kate replied. "He felt so terrible about attacking his favourite author, that he let slip a confession."

"And that, young Padawan," he turned to Alexis, "is how you close a case without even being in the room." He tilted his head to the side, serious-face on. "Learn from the master."

"Oh, she's learned well," Kate said, smiling at his daughter. "Alexis is the reason we were able to track down Rocky in the first place."

"I just thought the graffiti looked familiar," Alexis shrugged.

"Don't be modest!" Castle scolded. "I didn't get to be an honorary NYPD Homicide Detective through modesty. I'm still waiting on the badge, by the way," he cocked an eyebrow in Kate's direction.

"Not happening," Kate replied without missing a beat.

"So Rocky also killed Crombie?" Castle asked.

Kate sighed. She rubbed a hand through her hair – something Castle knew she did when she was stumped by a case. "I'm not sure."

"But he confessed to it," Alexis said. "Why confess if he didn't do it?"

"He seemed afraid of something," Kate replied. "I'm not sure what, but Gates pulled me from interrogation and declared the case all wrapped up, so that's that as far as she's concerned." She tapped her finger against the counter, lost deep in thought over the case. A steely cloak of determination settled on her shoulders. "I'm going to find out what he's afraid of, Gates or no Gates. And then I'll go at him again."

Castle exchanged a look with Alexis.

_See_, he tried to telegraph to her, _this is why she's extraordinary._

Alexis turned her attention to Kate, expression thoughtful.

"Gates," Castle said aloud. "I bet she's tickled pink that I'm not shadowing you."

"In between press conferences, maybe," she replied, the glimpse of a smile on her lips. "She's insisting on handling all media relations on this personally."

"Hey," he brightened as a thought occurred. "Maybe being in the limelight like this will warm her up towards me."

"The mayor has her telling everyone you're a hero," her smile bloomed into amused satisfaction, "and the force is proud to work with you."

"Ouch. Maybe not, then," he acknowledged. He almost felt bad for Gates. He looked at Alexis. "Maybe you should bake her some cookies, too."

"Those were a big hit, by the way," Kate said to Alexis. "I had to hide my stash. You would not believe how sweet a tooth your average homicide detective has."

"I can bake you more any time," Alexis said eagerly, "They're really easy to make."

Castle looked at her. Was this residual guilt, he wondered. The admiration he could see his very transparent daughter projecting, though, indicated otherwise.

Interesting.

"Thanks, Alexis," Kate was again smiling warmly at his daughter. It gave him warm fuzzies, he was man enough to admit.

Kate pushed her chair back from the counter and stood up. "And thank you guys for dessert," she said.

"Don't mention it, Super Becks," Castle teased. "Gotham thanks you."

"It's the least I could do," she said, ignoring his attempt at levity. And there was that look, the one she'd worn when she'd come to his door yesterday. That worrying mix of emotions once again lurking in those lovely eyes.

"Let me walk you out," he said, standing up carefully, movements stiff. His side was starting to hurt through the painkillers, as it usually did at the end of the day.

"Goodnight, Alexis." She smiled. "Thanks for your help with the case."

His daughter was again watching Kate with a considering gaze. That worrying mix of emotions in Kate's eyes magnified ten-fold under Alexis' scrutiny. Castle was about to intervene when Alexis shrugged and wrapped her arms around Kate in a hug.

"Thank you," she mumbled. And just as quickly as the hug had begun, Alexis pulled away and scampered up the stairs. Castle, from where he was standing, could see the blush on Alexis' face – the perils of being a fair-skinned redhead.

Very interesting.

He looked at Kate, who seemed quite taken aback as she watched Alexis disappear up the stairs. He'd bet this is just how she'd looked when Alexis had handed her the box of cookies at the station. He found himself smiling.

"I'll see you, Castle," Kate was saying, already halfway to the door by the time he snapped out of his rather pleasant daze.

"Tomorrow, maybe?" He suggested, hurrying to catch up with her. He had to hold a hand to his side as he walked. "Whatever the doc may say, you really are the best medicine."

She smiled, and so did he.

"You know what would really help me heal?" He continued, because he was a master at pushing his luck. "Another hug. Oh! Oh! How about a kiss? I'd bet my spleen would grow back from the healing effects of that."

She made a face.

"Yeah," he agreed, chagrined. He really needed to think before he spoke. "That came out sounding much grosser than I'd intended."

"Goodnight, Castle," she said again, a bit more emphatically.

"Right," he smiled fondly at her. "Goodnight." He reached to open the door for her, but had to stop at the sharp stinging as his stitches pulled with the movement. He winced, pressing a hand tightly to his side.

"Are you alright?" Kate rested a hand on his waist, eyes dark with concern.

He looked down at her hand, which was now resting on top of his, and then winked at her. "Worth it," he teased.

She was having none of it. "Rick."

"I really am feeling better," he assured her. "I'll be at a hundred percent in a month, tops."

"Be serious," she said in exasperation. The same exasperation she'd worn when he'd visited her the one time when she was laid up in a hospital bed. The room suddenly seemed a bit smaller, a bit more sterile. Alarms were blaring. "You're obviously still in pain, you can't sit for extended periods without straining yourself, you're walking stiffly and-"

"Fine, six weeks," he conceded, cutting her off before she could get even more upset.

"Castle," she began, watching him warily. "I was thinking-"

He froze as she started speaking. With a sudden suffocating clarity, he knew where this was going.

"-maybe you should take a break."

He tried not to let the betrayal appear on his face. She was pushing him away again. Like she'd done after she'd gotten shot.

"Kate. No."

"This isn't … I'm not …" She stopped, took a breath. "You need to heal. You lost part of an organ-"

"Not a vital one," he pointed out.

"You're not allowed on the frontlines in the military without a spleen."

"Or if you have flat feet, but the NYPD has entire precincts full of donut-eating flat-footed cops."

"Stop arguing with me."

"Stop being unreasonable and I won't argue with you," he pleaded.

"I am being perfectly reasonable!" Frustration flashed in her eyes.

"No, Kate!" He could hear his own desperation. Not a good thing, he noted distantly, but hell if he was doing this back-and-forth with her again. "I'm not going to do this with you. I thought we were clear on this. I laid down my cards, you laid down yours. I am not letting you back away because some idiot happened to stab me in an alley!"

She stared at him, aghast.

"Castle." Her voice broke on his name. Tears welled in her eyes.

"Aw, Kate." He moved towards her, ready to apologize. He could feel the situation spiraling away from both of them.

She stepped back, hand out to keep him away. "Alexis said she wanted you to stop coming in."

"I've discussed it with her," he said. "She's fine now."

"What if I'm not?"

"Kate," he felt it again, that clawing desperation, exacerbated by the stinging in his side and his sudden exhaustion. "I don't want to let you go. I … I'm worried that if I can't shadow you, then you'll slip away."

"Rick," she whispered, looking so torn.

They were both surprised by the vulnerability in his confession. He could see it in her eyes, how it made her wary; afraid. And being exposed in this way made him reckless.

"Don't make me let go." He was jumping the gun. He knew it. She was going to pull away. It was too soon. She wasn't ready. She wasn't the person she wanted to be, yet.

"I don't know if I can do it." She was looking at him with those big eyes so full of hurt and fear. "You make me feel the way my mom used to," she whispered.

He had to stop, to savour those words. He didn't think anyone had ever paid him a higher compliment. No greater gift. He stared at her. That sounded like a good thing, so why…

"I just..." Kate struggled with what she wanted to say. "It hurt too much." She put a hand to her chest, rubbed in back and forth absently over her heart. "I don't think I can do it again."

He wanted so badly to hug her. To hold her. To chase away that sadness, that darkness in her. But she was holding on to it so tightly.

He didn't even know what to say. What could he say? This was just that part her heart, corroded from neglect, grinding its way back. Shaking off the rust and being confused by these new motions, unfamiliar through disuse.

Perhaps that was what Jim Beckett had been talking about, the other thing he'd lost when his wife had died. Kate's heart.

"Kate," he whispered. Why couldn't he say more, finish his thoughts. Make sense of his thoughts.

"I just need to be alone," she said.

He didn't want her to go. He stared at her, searched her face for permission to ignore her words.

He came up empty.

"Please, Rick," she said, meeting his eyes. What he saw in hers squeezed the air out of the room. "Just a little while. I'll come find you." She kept looking at him, all her wounds open to see.

He stood awkwardly, bad at following instructions but even worse at handling a Beckett who was so raw, stripped bare. All the mysteries discarded, leaving this one hardened, naked kernel of truth.

It was too much.

"Sure," he said quietly, because what else could he do. Kidnapping was still illegal last he'd checked. "Of course." He opened the door for her; closed it once she'd walked out. And this, he thought, is what heartbreak sounds like. A door quietly clicking shut.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: **Don't own

**A/N:** As promised! A day early, in fact. I wouldn't leave you guys hanging, especially not after all the humbling reviews you've been leaving. A few of you have mentioned your hesitance in reading stuff by new posters, so I'll take this opportunity to thank you all for giving this story – and by extension, me – a chance.

So, after writing this chapter, I decided that being a mystery writer is really tough work. And fitting it all into a 44 minute episode? Props to the Castle scriptwriters. I'll stick to my day job.

* * *

><p><strong>The Art of Living 78**

Castle stared at the high-tech murderboard he'd set up in his office. The case onscreen taunted him. Leads branched outwards; suspects and persons of interest and deceased witnesses formed an inescapable web, at the centre of which was a picture of Kate Beckett. He could see the accusation in her eyes, the disappointment.

One case. He couldn't solve this one case. Every lead was a dead end, every course of action headed off at the pass.

He rubbed a hand over tired eyes.

It was no use. He was no closer than he had been hours ago, days ago, weeks ago.

The soreness in his side had been thrumming for the past hour, and now was beginning to throb.

Time for a break. Time for some aspirin.

He stood up and dragged his feet out of his office and over to the kitchen. After taking a seat on one of the stools by the breakfast bar, Castle opened the bottle of pills, took two and downed them with the glass of water Alexis had thoughtfully left out for him.

Thank goodness for his daughter. His daughter who was going to leave him to go to university on the West coast. The exact opposite side of the country from him. His sweet Alexis, who left him pain medication and made him smile and took cookies to Beckett, handing them to her in the middle of the precinct.

Beckett.

Castle sighed heavily.

He dropped his head onto the cool, hard granite. He couldn't get her words out of his head. Or the look in her eyes. He'd need a thesaurus just to describe it, let alone come to terms with it.

His mother was right: for a writer he really didn't have the words when it mattered. But then, he told himself, but then he'd spent months telling her without words. He'd kept showing up, he'd been a silent pillar of support, her biggest fan. A stalwart. He'd continue to do just that, until he found the words.

What other options did he have, really? He could solve her mother's case. Then maybe she couldn't cower behind an unsolved anymore, behind this empty hunt for justice that was just her way of hiding from a life she was too scared to live. And then … and then he could crawl inside her heart and tear down all those fences and walls she put to guard that empty space where a warm home had once stood.

Sure. Easy. Piece of cake.

No problem.

He sighed again.

Except he couldn't even solve the damn case. He had nothing. Nothing.

And soon, he may not even have the luxury of being able to follow Kate day-in, day-out, an honorary crime-fighter who brought her coffee and made her laugh when things got tough. Or even when things weren't all that tough, just because he could.

Well, he refused to leave her alone. He still had the mayor on his side, after all. Kate would have no choice…

The lesser part of him was convinced he should have chained her to the couch instead of letting her leave two nights ago. But what good would that have done? He'd told Alexis that this was something Kate had to do on her own, she had to want it.

So what could he do?

Maybe it was time to throw in the towel. Cut his losses, rip out his heart and leave it by a roadside somewhere. At least then it wouldn't be his to worry about. He could move on. He could. If he tried.

He knocked his head lightly against the tabletop a couple of times. He hated feeling like this. Wasn't used to it. The last time he'd felt like this he had cut his losses, gone to the Hamptons with Gina and found himself in a committed relationship with her. And then Beckett had brought the magic back into his life. For the second time, at that.

He sighed again. He was doomed. Doomed to a life of boredom, without her wit and her humour, her not-so-well hidden pop culture nerdiness (a comic collection and Frank Miller trivia and Forbidden Planet!), and her secret love of soap operas. Doomed.

"What's this?" Martha asked, catching sight of him as she came through the front door.

He remained silent in his bubble of self-pity.

"Only one person I know can have you so out of sorts," she observed as she neared him. "Still no word from Beckett?"

"I find myself at a loss mother," he mumbled, lifting his head to catch her eye.

She set down her purse and came to stand next to him, draping an arm over his shoulder. "Now, now, kiddo". She offered a squeeze of solidarity. "It's not in our blood to despair. You'll figure it out." She paused a beat. "Or you could let me set you up with that student I was telling you about, from my acting school.

"Beckett is so ... complicated." He sighed, ignoring her last comment. "Complex."

"Richard, all women are complicated. You just weren't paying attention before Kate Beckett came along."

He dropped his head back on the table.

"Well then," Martha said giving him one last squeeze. "I'm making you the best damn white Russian you've ever had-"

"Kate speaks Russian."

"-best damn whiskey sour you've ever had. You know, I was famous for making these in my Broadway years. Can't tell you how many downtrodden directors I cheered up with one of these babies."

Castle watched his mother go about preparing a cocktail for him.

One drink, he told himself. One drink and then he was going to take another look at Kate's mother's case. He was going to give her closure, give her a chance at happiness.

* * *

><p>Kate sat in her chair, staring with unseeing eyes at the ceiling. The Crombie case was not sitting well with her. It had been two days since Marcus Titshaw had confessed. Two restless nights of tossing and turning, trying to figure out what Marcus was hiding. Who was he so afraid of? Ryan and Esposito had run Crombie's financials. They'd checked his phone records. They'd called everyone Crombie could possibly have been with between 10PM and 3AM on the night of his murder, but so far: nothing. Marcus was refusing to speak with her, with anyone about the case. He seemed happy to sit in jail – hadn't even posted bail. His public defender was trying for a minimum sentence, but the mayor wanted to make an example of Marcus for his new, tougher stance on crime. And the entire city thought Marcus was the scum of the earth for assaulting Castle.<p>

Two days since she'd seen Castle, too. She was, there was no point denying it, mad at herself. She knew what she wanted, she'd even confessed it to Lanie. But that night, standing in his loft, seeing him … He had still been weak. He'd looked tired, strained, in pain. He was still not fully himself. The idea of him coming back to shadow her…

Excuses, Kate. You're making excuses, she scolded.

The truth was that since he'd been stabbed, just looking at him caused her heart to seize up. And not in the good way.

The night of her mother's murder still stood vivid in her memory. It had not muted, had not faded or dulled with time. She had to concentrate, sometimes, to remember what her mother's voice sounded like, what her scent had been, how her touch had felt. But the night on which she'd crossed the yellow crime scene tape, when she'd seen her mom laying there…

Memories of that night required no prodding, no cajoling. They would readily leap out at her, crowd her, scream in her ears.

And what had happened in the alley on Saturday night … with Rick …

She didn't want to feel that kind of hurt again. She didn't want to have to find the strength to climb out of the gaping maw of loss. And the fear of it had caused her to get worked up, to lose her grip on what had been such an important conversation.

Kate took a deep breath. She sat up in her chair, posture rigid. Those kinds of thoughts were not going to get her anywhere. She was getting distracted. She needed to figure out what Marcus was hiding. Why he'd confessed to a crime he hadn't committed. And she would find the answer, she was convinced, wherever Crombie had been between 10AM and 3AM the night of his murder.

Focus on the case. Forget about Castle.

Decision made, Kate looked up in search of Ryan and Esposito-

And instead she found Alexis, standing right in front of her desk. Kate's throat went dry.

"Alexis?"

"Hi, Detective Beckett." Castle's daughter smiled a bit nervously.

"Is everything okay?"

"Would you…" she hesitated, "Can we get some coffee?" At Kate's surprised expression, she quickly added, "to talk. Please."

* * *

><p>Kate sat in the booth at a coffeehouse not far from the precinct, waiting for Alexis to bring their orders. Alexis had insisted on buying, and Kate had been ready to revolt at the idea of two Castles bringing her coffee, but then she'd remembered the hug Alexis had given her the other night, the worry and the cautious affection she'd caught a glimpse of in the girl's eyes. A slight tug of warmth had pulled at Kate's heart, so she'd quietly acquiesced.<p>

"Skinny latte with two pumps sugar-free vanilla." Alexis wore a wide grin as she set down Kate's drink on the table.

Kate looked down at the coffee in surprise, then back at Alexis.

She shrugged as she slid into her seat opposite from Kate. "Dad may have mentioned it once or twice."

Kate wasn't going to touch the topic of Castle with a ten foot pole.

"How are you doing, Alexis?" she asked instead.

"I'm okay," she answered too quickly, too brightly. At Kate's arched eyebrow, Alexis' brave face crumpled. "Actually, I don't know. I don't know how I'm supposed to feel."

"There are no rules for this," Kate said gently. "You're allowed to feel whatever you do."

"I talked to dad about it."

"That's good. It's important to talk about this, not keep it all bottled in."

"I don't know how you did it." Alexis glanced at Kate with a hesitant courage, looking lost and distressed. "How did you … I mean, dad didn't even die and I'm a mess. You … your mom…" Tears welled in blue eyes that were so much like her father's.

Kate moved around the table and slid into Alexis' booth. She ran a hand up and down the girl's back in long, soothing strokes.

"Your dad is fine, Alexis."

"I know." She sniffled. "Sorry, sometimes I just…"

"It's okay," Kate said. She watched the tears fall from the girl's eyes. "Alexis, if you don't want your dad to come back to shadow me, I will refuse to let him."

"You would do that?" Alexis looked at her in surprise.

Kate nodded.

Alexis considered Kate for a moment, before turning to her hot chocolate. She stirred the drink thoughtfully.

"I couldn't ask that of him," she finally said. "Two days ago, when you said I'd helped you guys find who hurt Dad … I realized why Dad likes it so much. It's the kind of thrill he lives for. And," here Alexis smiled, "this way is better than riding horses naked in Central Park."

Kate could not deny the truth in that observation.

"You know, Dad's not the same person he used to be before he met you," Alexis said, watching her. She was waiting for a reaction, Kate realized.

But you don't get to be one the better detectives in the city without developing a good poker face. Kate was used to suspects trying to read her thoughts in her eyes. Not that Alexis was a suspect…

"Don't get me wrong," she continued, "I've always loved my dad, but now … I guess I hadn't realized how good a person he is. How much ... substance he has. I take him a lot more seriously, too, than I used to." She shook her head in slight frustration. "I'm not explaining myself very well."

"I know what you mean," Kate said. They'd all grown, the three of them, since that first case Castle had made himself a nuisance in. It made her realize how much helping them solve cases meant to him. It held an importance for him that was completely separate with anything to do with her.

Alexis gave Kate a rueful smile, "I think his heart has always been in the right place, but he didn't really have a reason to be serious with it, before."

Kate said nothing, partly because she didn't know how she should respond to that loaded statement, and partly because she sensed that Alexis was winding her way to the heart of the matter. The real purpose behind this coffee date.

"Kate," she began seriously, "I know Dad won't stop coming to the precinct. What I said was true: when he sets his heart on something, dad doesn't budge. No one can stop him except by proving him wrong, and you know how Dad gets when he thinks he's right about something."

Kate was really glad for her poker face at the moment.

"I came here," Alexis said, "because I can't stop Dad from doing this, so I want you to promise me that you'll … take care of him. You'll look out for him."

Kate felt a fierce clash of relief and dismay at hearing Alexis' words. She wanted Castle back. She also wanted an excuse to keep him away. The two opposing forces duelled ferociously in her.

"I know you can't promise me that … I mean, I know Dad doesn't listen and he does what he pleases, but-"

"Alexis." Kate cut in, not sure what she could tell Castle's daughter. At the best of times, trying to rein Castle in was like roping the wind. At the worst…

"I just..." Little Castle sighed. "I'm asking the impossible, aren't I?"

"Alexis," Kate said, "I consider your father to be my partner. And if there's one thing that's sacred in the force, it's a partnership. I promise you that I will watch his back, and do whatever I can to keep him safe and out of harm's way." She looked Alexis in the eye. "Is that enough?"

Alexis nodded, looking like Atlas being relieved of his weight. "For now," she said. Kate couldn't understand, though, why Alexis was smiling as she said it.

Partner, Kate thought. She knew she could honour that professionally – assuming Gates let him back. Castle had been through too much with her for it to be otherwise. He'd watched her back, saved her life, kept her from running off half-cocked. She'd had partnerships with officers before. She'd lived through the cold feet, the fear that accompanied the return of a partner who'd been injured on the job, under her watch. She knew how to deal with all that. On a professional level.

Whether she could deal with the personal level, with the way Castle kept slamming into that wall she'd told him about, loosening the bricks and crumbling the mortar … that was a whole different matter. The trouble was, she was having a hard time keeping the two separate.

She watched Alexis sip her hot chocolate, and she consciously tucked away her worries. She hadn't been able to sort it all out yet. She needed more time to think it all over. Space. Perspective.

_Excuses, Kate,_ a tiny voice whispered.

"How are things with Ashley?" Kate asked, mostly to distract herself.

Alexis' smile lit up the room. "Great! I mean, we hit a rough patch – he's been getting so busy with classes and papers and midterms and extracurriculars – but we figured it out."

"That's good."

"I'm still really disappointed about not getting early admission into Stanford – Dad told you about that, didn't he?"

Kate nodded.

Alexis cocked her head to the side. "Did you get rejected from any of the universities you'd applied to?"

She hadn't, but wasn't sure if that was what Alexis wanted to hear.

"You didn't, did you?" Alexis correctly read into Kate's hesitation. "Have you ever failed at anything?" she asked, exasperated and petulant in a way that was endearingly reminiscent of Castle.

Solving my mother's case, Kate thought. Being the kind of person I want to be.

"I consider failure an opportunity for improvement," she said aloud. It was the truth, too, and an easier one to tell. Though perhaps a harder one to live. "I just try harder, get better."

"Dad's advice was similar," Alexis said. "He told me that not giving up is a mark of success."

"Wise words," Kate grinned. "Sounds like something your father would say." She lifted a finger, pointing it at Alexis in warning, "and don't you dare tell him I used the word 'wise' in reference to him."

"Cross my heart," Alexis replied, grinning. "Besides, I don't think his ego could handle it."

They shared a laugh.

"So you're going to apply to universities for fall admission?"

"Yeah," she looked at Kate. "Can I tell you something? But you have to promise not to tell Dad."

"You have my word," she replied without hesitating. She knew first-hand how there were some things that daughters couldn't confess to fathers. She also knew that Castle's honesty-only policy worked both ways: Alexis would tell her dad when she was ready to.

"I haven't told Dad this yet, but since he got hurt, I've been considering staying in New York."

"But you had your heart set on Stanford," Kate said in surprise, "on being close to Ashley."

"I know I did," Alexis idly ran her spoon along the foamy top of her drink. "It's just ... I'm ... I don't know."

"It's not unusual for you to feel this way, Alexis," Kate said. "After a shock like the one you've experienced, it's normal to want to hold on tighter to those you love." She tucked Little Castle's hair behind her ear, letting her fingers gently slide through the smooth strands. "But Alexis, sweetie, you can't stop living just because you're afraid."

Alexis' eyes darted to Kate's.

"I've already given you my word," Kate said, not sure what to make of the sharp disbelief in the girl's expression. "I will do everything in my power to keep your father safe. I'm already planning on a probationary period for him," she half-teased. "Once his doctor gives him a clean bill of health."

"What..." Alexis trailed off, unsure. The same way she'd looked when she'd first broached the topic of Kate's mom, earlier in the conversation.

"You can ask me, Alexis, anything you want. I'll answer as best I can."

"What do you do when you're afraid?"

Kate stared at Alexis. What did she do?

"Well," she began slowly, "to be honest, I made a lot of unhealthy choices because of my fears." Clear green eyes met troubled blue. "I don't want you to make the same mistakes I did. I wouldn't want anyone to."

Kate stumbled at the empathy in Alexis' gaze. She looked so much like her father at times...

"But I'm working on it," she assured. "It's my one big failure," she told Alexis. "The one that I'm going to overcome."

Alexis gazed into her now-cold hot chocolate, mulling Beckett's words over for a few minutes before speaking: "I can see why Dad bases his books on you."

Kate let out a surprised laugh, half-amused, half-embarrassed – she had not been expecting that comment.

She thought of Castle. His unwavering support, his unshakable faith in her. He believed enough for the both of them, while she stood safely behind her certainty of their failure, her inability to be what he deserved. Her fear.

She was going to conquer it. Castle had framed his first rejection letter from a publisher; Alexis had embraced a contingency plan she'd never before seen a need for; and Kate Beckett would look Richard Castle in the eye and tell him that he was worth the risk of losing the equilibrium she'd worked so hard to achieve. And she would fight every step of the way to prove it. No more excuses.

She could do this.

She could try...

"Thanks, Kate," she said, looking lighter and brighter.

"Always, Alexis." Kate replied, feeling lighter and brighter herself.

"You know," Alexis continued with a warm, conspiratorial smile, "don't tell Dad, but it's a relief to get away from the loft. He can be a handful when he's not at a hundred percent. He gets bored really, really easily," Alexis let out a small laugh. "I waited until he went in for his mid-morning nap and then snuck out to meet with you. Well," she amended, "I left him a note. It takes a lot of creativity to keep him inside the loft. I considered setting a tripwire at the door, you know, booby trap the entrance so Dad couldn't leave. But then I realized he'd find that so cool, he'd spend hours trying to outsmart the trap instead of resting."

"He would get a kick out of that," Kate grinned. "It would just be safer to leave him inside with the tripwire..." she trailed off as realization struck.

Safer inside…

"What?" Alexis asked with concern.

"Booby trap the entrance," Kate repeated.

"You have that look Dad gets when he-"

"I think you just blew this case wide open, Alexis!" Kate said excitedly.

"You have to go?" Alexis asked in surprise.

Kate was halfway out the booth before she stopped herself. She settled back down firmly in her seat. "Alexis," she began-

Alexis laughed then, amused by the clear conflict on Kate's face. "Go. It's fine."

"Thanks!" She slid out of the booth, and without giving it much thought, affectionately tugged on a lock of Alexis' hair. "I'll make it up to you!" And Kate was gone.

* * *

><p>Beckett stared intently at the murderboard, marker in hand.<p>

"I thought Gates said the case was closed." Ryan came to stand next to her. Esposito joined them.

"We had the timeline wrong," she said. "All this time, we figured Crombie was killed between 3AM and 4AM on Saturday morning."

"It fits the timeline Lanie gave us," Esposito said.

"Lanie placed time of death between 1AM and 4AM," Beckett reminded him.

"But the alarm in Crombie's studio was deactivated at 3:03AM," Ryan said.

"Right," said Beckett. "And all this time, we assumed that Crombie deactivated the alarm when he reached his studio," she turned to them. "What if he was already inside his studio?"

"With the alarm on?" Esposito was skeptical.

"He was being blackmailed," Beckett pointed out. "And Marcus was afraid of something he refused to talk about. Maybe Crombie was taking extra precautions against whoever was threatening him."

Esposito remained skeptical. Castle would've back her up, Beckett thought.

"But then how did the killer get inside if the alarm was on?" Ryan asked.

"The back door?" she suggested.

"Did he jump from the building across the alley, Super Becks?" Esposito joked.

Beckett narrowed her eyes at him, but that only made his grin widen.

"Or he found some other means of entry," she said. "Maybe he scaled the wall. Or came through the skylights; those aren't alarmed." She turned back to the murderboard. "Which means the killer could have shown up as early as 1AM."

"Why deactivate the alarm at 3AM, when he was done?" Esposito asked. "Why not just leave the same way he came?"

_Maybe he wanted us to think the murder was committed after 3AM._

Inner-Castle is back, thought Beckett. Now, she was getting somewhere.

Aloud she said: "To give himself an alibi, to make us think the murder was committed after 3AM." She paused. "Which means our killer is someone who knows the code to Crombie's studio…"

_…the same person Rocky thought had come back to the scene of the crime, someone who wears suits and has an expensive haircut..._

"…someone who could have scaled the wall or entered through the skylights…"

_…someone who doesn't have an alibi for before 3AM!_

Beckett's eyes widened – of course! She turned to Ryan and Esposito. "I know who the killer is!"

* * *

><p>Beckett sat across from John Crombie's agent. His silver hair was immaculately combed, his suit stylishly cut, and his demeanour confident.<p>

"Why is it, Mr. Fitzwilliam," she said, "that every lead I follow on this case points me to you?"

Fitzwilliam watched her impassively, but said nothing.

"I know why," she answered her own question. "Because you had means, motive, and opportunity. And we have evidence."

"I told you," Fitzwilliam said with a flicker of impatience, "I was climbing. With friends. I had left the city by three on Saturday morning."

"We spoke with your climbing friends. You were definitely there by 5AM, and we have your car passing through the Hudson Toll at 3:11AM." She noted the smug upturn of his lips. She liked them best like this. It was more fun to corner them in their web of lies when they thought they'd gotten away with it.

"What your friends found strange though," Beckett continued, "were the specks of green paint they saw on your climbing gloves. And what I find strange is that it took you two hours to complete a one and a half hour journey."

Fitzwilliam's eyes were intent on hers, calculating, even as his body language was calm and easy. He was trying to decide whether to call her bluff.

He settled for saying nothing.

"Here's what I think happened," Kate said. "You climbed into Crombie's studio before 3AM from the back door. You drowned him, and then threw paint over the crime scene to cover any prints you may have left – drowning someone in paint is, after all, a messy job. When you were done, you deactivated the alarm to give yourself an airtight alibi. You climbed back down the side of the building and drove the hour and a half distance to meet your climbing buddies, with a half an hour pit stop to clean all that green paint off your hands and the inside of your climbing gloves."

His eyes narrowed, that smug lift of his lips was back. He leaned back comfortably in his chair, flicking a piece of lint off his pants. "You have nothing," he said. "Conjecture. You didn't mention a piece of evidence in your little story." Satisfaction glinted in his eyes. "I would never hurt Johnny. What motive could I possibly have?"

"Conjecture is it?" she asked. "What if I tell you I had uniforms canvas the service stations along the interstate from Manhattan to Shawagunk Ridge? An employee at a service station near Poughkeepsie remembers seeing you in the washroom, washing your hands. He said it was hard to forget all the paint he had to mop up behind you. Took you half an hour to clean up," she said critically, "but you still didn't do that great a job." She paused before driving another nail into the coffin. "And CSU is searching your apartment for your climbing gear. You may have been smart enough to throw away your climbing gloves, but I bet you didn't throw away all your climbing picks. I bet they'll find a perfect match for the holes we found on the wall beneath the studio's back door, from where you drove your picks in. Are you still telling me it's all conjecture?"

His smile faltered.

"At first, though," Beckett said thoughtfully. "I didn't understand why you would kill Crombie. You planned this out very carefully. You made sure you had time to clean up after yourself. All signs of premeditation. The question remains: why would you want to kill him, Arthur? And why drown him in paint? Why didn't you take a weapon with you if you planned on killing John?"

Beckett looked at Fitzwilliam, giving him a chance to answer the question. Unsurprisingly, he held his silence. He was watching her, once again the very much the picture of cool and unflappable. Beckett had to give him credit for it. But she still had a few more cards to play.

"I think it's because you thought Crombie betrayed you, and that made you lose your head. You see: you genuinely cared for John."

There was the briefest of flashes in his brilliant blue eyes, and Beckett knew she'd found his weak point. She was going to get her confession if she exploited that weakness. And she needed a confession.

"John's paranoia," Beckett said, "led him to dig around your home and office. It led him to think you were hiding something. Usually, he was wrong about such things; just the effect of being off-medication. Turns out," she paused, watched his face carefully. "This time he was right. You're quite the wanted man, Arthur. The FBI has been looking for the person responsible for flooding the US market with quality forgeries. For a long time now, they've suspected an American citizen of working with the Chinese triad to funnel high-end fakes into the country, but they just couldn't figure out who it was. Imagine how pleased they were when I called them with your name. The feds are searching your office, your homes, and your financials. And two of their agents are waiting right outside that door." She indicated the door to the interrogation room with the tilt of her chin. She allowed herself a feral smile. "But they were so kind as to give me first dibs on you."

She had – after a lot of sweat and grief – finally extracted the truth from Rocky. He had been a surprisingly tough nut to crack, because he was terrified of Fitzwilliam and his associates in the triad. Twenty years in prison was a small price to pay for staying alive, he'd said. But once she'd informed the FBI about Fitzwilliam, they'd offered her a bargaining chip with which to turn Marcus, and Gates had made her take it: the promise of a new start under the witness protection program in exchange for testifying had Marcus caving like a bad soufflé.

But Kate wanted a confession out of Fitzwilliam. Because if the need for Marcus to testify was taken away, then the deal he'd made with the FBI would be off the table. She wanted to nail the bastard to the wall for hurting Castle, not let him walk away into a new life under the auspices of the feds.

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, and stared him down. "You killed a man who looked up to you as a father."

Fitzwilliam's eye twitched at that, his only outward exhibition of anger.

"He was so broken up when he found out what you were doing, who you were," Beckett pushed, allowing her tone to drip with disgust.

"Broken up!" Fitzwilliam said sharply. "Looked up to me as a father?" Fitzwilliam was suddenly seething, his voice getting louder with indignation. "He tried to blackmail me! He threatened to reveal who I was unless I paid him a hundred thousand dollars! When I confronted him about the blackmail letter he denied it!" He shook his head irately. "Looked me in the eye and denied it." He jabbed a finger into his chest in angered disbelief. "To my face!"

"Crombie wasn't the one blackmailing you," Beckett said. It was hard to believe the raging man in front of her was the same one who'd used his charm so effectively in their first interview.

"I saw the letter!" He was incensed. "Who else knew but him? I caught him going through my computer, digging around in my office. After I took him in like a son!"

"When John found out about your dealings in forged artwork, he told Rocky," Beckett cut into his tirade. "He had no one else to turn to, to talk to, so he told his foster brother. The brother who'd looked out for him when they were younger."

Fitzwilliam's red hot fury faltered before her. He frowned at Beckett, off-balance and unsure now that his righteous anger had been stripped from him. "You're saying … that this Rocky kid sent me the letter?"

Beckett nodded. "When Crombie found out what Rocky was up to, he was livid. He demanded Rocky give him the money, and then he hid it in his studio until he could return it to you. He kicked Rocky out after that, said he never wanted to see him again."

Fitzwilliam looked down at his hands. His breathing was quick and shallow. "No." His eyes rose to meet Beckett's. "No. You're lying."

"It's the truth," she told him. "Rocky thought you would pay to keep your involvement in dealing with forged artwork from coming to light. He sent you that letter without telling John, who didn't know about the blackmail until you confronted him. Rocky admitted to everything. He said Johnny was afraid of your temper."

"No..." he shook his head, struggled to come to terms with what Beckett was telling him. "I thought Johnny … he was a son to me. I couldn't let him ruin me. I just, I wanted to talk to him."

"And talking to Johnny meant holding his head under a can of paint?" Kate asked in disbelief. "Come on, Arthur. No one's going to buy that." She waved a dismissive hand. "You had the whole thing planned out."

"You don't understand. John kept insisting that he didn't want my money, that he would never have blackmailed me. Even..." Fitzwilliam wiped at his eyes with trembling fingers. "... even when I held his head under that paint, it was just to get him to tell me the truth. I didn't mean to kill him. But John just kept insisting," he said. He leaned forward, trying to convince her of his side of events, desperate to find his absolution. "I thought he was lying and I got so angry ... and he just wasn't stable, you know, when he was off his medication. He wasn't predictable. If I didn't do something about it, about him, I would've been killed. My ... business associates are not to be trifled with, Detective Beckett."

He sounded like a man, Beckett thought, who was trying to rationalize an unthinkable act.

The door opened just then, and the FBI agents Beckett had promised walked in. With a nod towards the agents, she picked up her paperwork and left the room. She had her confession. She had justice for Castle. For Alexis. Alexis, who would never have to live with the hollow, helpless anger of knowing that the person who had harmed your parent was out there, scot free.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer:** Don't own

**A/N:** This is it. Last chapter. The end. Thank you for reading! Thank you even more for leaving comments; it made this such a pleasant experience. I'll take this opportunity to wish you all well and thank you for having me. It's been fun.

ps. I wanted to give you guys an honest ending, and I think this one befits season 4 ... what say you?

pps. Thanks for 'favouriting' this story, those of you who did. You're my favourites, too!

* * *

><p><strong>The Art of Living 88**

Kate knocked on Castle's door, giving herself a little pep talk as she waited. Not that it was doing her much good.

The door swung open to reveal a grinning Alexis.

"Hey, Alexis," Kate smiled in greeting.

"Kate!" she welcomed. "Come on in. Dad!" she called out before Kate could get a word in edgewise. "You have a visitor!"

Castle exited his office with a spring in his step. "Which of my adoring fans-"

He stopped abruptly when he saw her. She couldn't tell if he was more mad, surprised or worried at finding her on his doorstep.

"Beckett."

Mad, she decided.

She forced herself to meet his gaze.

"Hey, Castle. How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he replied. "Considering."

Kate fidgeted awkwardly. "We made an arrest in the Crombie case."

"Who was it?" he asked, anger replaced by his more natural curiosity. "The assistant?"

She liked it better like this, she thought; when he wasn't mad at her. He walked to the foyer, where she and Alexis were standing.

"The agent, actually."

"It was the agent?" Castle exclaimed in surprise. "The one who was undressing you with his eyes during our first interview?"

"Who was what?" Kate said, taken aback. She glanced uneasily at Alexis, who was standing right there. "He was not," she protested.

"Please," Castle scoffed. "I would know. I'm an expert on the subject of undressing y-"

"Dad!" Alexis' tone was one of longsuffering patience. "Really?"

"Right," he looked at his daughter, hands raised in apology. He then turned back to Kate. "He was so smooth during that interview. I didn't suspect a thing."

"Me neither," she agreed. "According to the FBI, though, he's been dealing in forged art with the Chinese triad for over two decades. Leading a double life for so long offers a lot of practice at being a skilled liar. He probably would've kept it a secret for decades more, if Crombie's off-medication paranoia hadn't led him to discover the truth."

"Where does the blackmail letter fit?" Castle asked, getting drawn into the story. "Red herring? Oh!" he exclaimed eagerly. "I got it! Crombie wasn't being blackmailed – he was blackmailing Fitzwilliam!"

"Better than that," said Kate, "The letter was from Rocky. He was blackmailing Fitzwilliam over his double life behind Crombie's back-"

"-but Fitzwilliam thought Crombie was the blackmailer, a man he loved like a son!" Castle filled in the blanks, his mind working double-time. "So he went to confront Crombie."

"Exactly," Kate couldn't help but smile.

"It was a risk on Fitzwilliam's part, though, to say that Crombie was the one being blackmailed," Castle said thoughtfully. "We were bound to discover the truth."

"Actually, he thought it was a pretty safe lie to feed us," Kate said. "Even with his head held under paint, Crombie didn't give up Rocky. Fitzwilliam figured no one but Crombie was making the threats, so no one else could know about the blackmail. Rocky admitted to everything though – including his knowledge of Fitzwilliam's involvement in dealing forged art – in exchange for being put under FBI protection. Fitzwilliam has a lot of friends in the Chinese triad," she explained.

"How did you crack the case?" he asked.

"Actually," here Kate turned to smile at his daughter, "It was something Alexis said about it being safer to lock you up in your apartment, rather than release you into the wild."

"Funny," he said, looking from her to Alexis, his tone indicating it was anything but. Alexis shrugged.

"It made me realize that maybe Crombie hadn't reactivated his alarm at 10PM the night before because he'd left the studio, but because he was hunkering in for a night of painting. Which means it was possible the killer left at 3AM, rather than arrived then. I had CSU check the back door and the skylights. They found holes in the wall outside the back door that matched Fitzwilliam's climbing gear. It all fell into place after that."

"Ooh," he said, face lighting up, "Nice detail. It completely changes the timeline for the murder."

"I thought you might enjoy that," she was still smiling. Couldn't help herself, really. Bouncing ideas back and forth with a mind as sharp and creative as Castle's was immensely gratifying.

"Are you guys going to let everyone know that Crombie was Cranker?" asked Alexis, who had been listening intently to the conversation.

"We have no reason to," Kate replied, "since it's not relevant to the case. But someone has already leaked it to the press."

"Who?"

Kate shrugged. "There's no way to know for sure, but I suspect Marcus Titshaw-"

"Titshaw," Castle said, chuckling. "Ha. Bet the kids at school loved that."

Kate glanced at him fondly, while Alexis rolled her eyes.

"Marcus has quite a few of Crombie's paintings and sketches in his possession," Kate continued. "With Crombie's death and the truth about him being Cranker coming out, the value of his works has shot up almost exponentially. His stuff is a hot commodity at the moment, and Marcus is going to have a slew of legal bills to pay."

"Slew," Castle nodded with approval. "Good word."

"Wait: so Marcus gets the money he wanted in the first place?" Alexis asked in dismay. "He's the one who started this whole mess! That's not fair." She frowned at Kate. "You said Marcus was put under FBI protection for being a witness against Crombie's agent. Does that mean he won't get any jail time? He hurt Dad!" her voice raised in frustration.

"Alexis," Castle said, half in worry at her anger, half in warning for raising her voice at Beckett.

"Actually," Kate silenced Castle with a quick look. "Fitzwilliam offered to testify to everything he knows about the forged art ring he is involved with, in exchange for a reduced sentence in solitary followed by witness protection. He knows a lot after twenty years' involvement. With Fitzwilliam's testimony, Marcus is no longer needed as a witness, so the offer for WITSEC is off the table. The feds get to keep Fitzwilliam and use him to reel in the big players, while the mayor gets to make an example out of Marcus, right here in New York." She offered a reassuring smile to the young girl. "So it all worked out. I wouldn't make a deal that would give Marcus a free pass." She gave Alexis a meaningful look. "I made a promise, didn't I?"

Alexis broke into a relieved grin.

Kate winked at Little Castle.

"This is the second case you've solved in a week," Castle said to his daughter, but the warmth in his eyes was directed at Kate.

"It was actually a lot of fun. I can see why you're hooked," she told her dad, beaming. He beamed right back. Kate looked between the two, sensing that there was some deeper meaning hidden behind those words between father and daughter.

"At the rate in which Alexis is helping us solve cases," she said, causing them both to turn to her, "she'll get that honorary badge long before you do, Castle."

Alexis laughed, and Castle looked wounded.

"What can I say," Alexis teased, pretending to buff her nails against her shirt, "the student has become the master."

"I don't know whether to be proud or insulted," Castle said, looking like he was seriously debating the two options.

Alexis walked over to her father and gave him a tight hug. Still clingy, Kate noted.

"I'm off," she said. "Ashley should be calling soon. He has to stay up late tonight writing a term paper, but he's due for a study break in ten minutes."

"Goodnight, pumpkin."

Alexis pulled away from her father's embrace and turned to look at Kate. There was that cautious affection in Little Castle's eyes, Kate thought; though a little less cautious. She saw something else too, and it looked uncannily like hope.

"I owe you a rain cheque on coffee," Kate told her, "or, in your case, peppermint hot chocolate."

"Any time." Alexis said brightly. "And you know where to reach me if you need help with a case," she joked.

"I might actually take you up on that," Kate said with mock solemnity. "We do like you better than this guy," she gestured towards Castle. "You're more useful and way less annoying."

"Insulted," Castle nodded decisively. "I definitely feel insulted."

"Thank you," Alexis said to Kate. "For finding who hurt Dad. And for having coffee with me and ... for the other thing."

"I should be thanking you," she replied. For more than helping us solve a couple of cases, or getting me coffee, or letting your dad come back to me, she added silently. Who would have thought she'd take the scariest step of her life after chatting with a teenager?

"Goodnight." Alexis gifted Kate with another tight, brief hug.

"Night, Alexis," Kate replied, watching her go. That warm tug on her heart was getting stronger. She took a deep breath. Now for the real reason she'd come here: to talk to Castle.

This, she thought, was not going to be easy.

* * *

><p>Castle watched Beckett as Alexis said her goodbyes. With another hug for the detective from Alexis, he couldn't help but note. His daughter, he realized, was crushing on the detective. How cute was that? Alexis had stayed mum on the contents of her coffee chat with Beckett – and he'd learned the really hard way not to pry – but whatever had been said had done his daughter a world of good.<p>

He wondered if he too could get away with hugging Beckett whenever he felt like it. After all, he'd had a crush on her for way longer.

But then he saw all pretence fall away from Beckett's face once Alexis was safely upstairs, and he realized that might never be the case for him. He couldn't help the sudden pounding in his ears. She turned to face him, and the pounding in his ears crested to a dull roar.

"Thank you, by the way," she said, surprising him.

"For what?" he asked, now even more off-kilter.

"For having Ryan bring me coffee the other day."

He shrugged. It was small thing, really, compared to what he would do for her if she let him. But he stopped himself from thinking such thoughts. Silent romantic declarations weren't getting him anywhere, and he had yet to come up with a worthy plan of action where she was concerned. Suddenly, he was angry again. Mad at her for discarding him so easily when he'd tried to give her every reason not to.

"Rick." She straightened. There was that freaky Zen-like determination again. "Can we talk?"

His palms started sweating as soon as she spoke the fated words. She was going to kick him to the curb. She was going to crack his heart wide open and tell him that what she saw inside wasn't worth the effort. Now he was angry and upset.

"Sure," he said. He gestured towards the living room, and followed her to the couch. Instead of sitting on the couch, though, she perched herself on the coffee table. He sat across from her, sinking into the soft leather.

"I'm not sure I want to hear this," he told her frankly.

She looked at him with warm, nervous eyes. "I wanted to apologize for the other night. I … got emotional. And I let those emotions get the better of me." She watched him for a reaction, but he wasn't sure how he was supposed to react.

He was still mad though.

"What happened in that alley," she continued, "brought back a lot of memories."

He listened carefully. As was always the case when she talked about her mother's death, he wanted nothing more than to hold her the way he held Alexis when she was sad.

"You remember what I told you on the swings that day, when I came to your book-signing? And what you told me about getting consumed by mom's case?"

He nodded.

"I … I listened to you, Castle. I went back to the therapist who did my psych eval, who cleared me for duty."

His eyes widened in surprise. He hadn't known. Another layer to the Beckett onion.

"I needed to get a hold of things, to figure myself out."

He wasn't sure where this was going. He found himself hoping even though he'd told himself he would stop doing that.

"And I thought I was seeing him to get things under control, to find my focus, find my feet so that I could go back to my mom's case without losing my balance. Without falling. But after my first session I realized that wasn't the reason I went." She paused, and he watched as she rallied her resolve. "I went to try and become the kind of person I want to be, and ... have the kind of relationship that I want."

He held his breath.

She looked down at her hands. "The truth is the only reason I realized I had put a wall up is because you keep running into it. Over and over again." Her eyes met his, saying so much. "I wasn't lying when I said you make me feel like my mother used to. Happy. Safe. It terrifies me. But," she took on the steely determination he'd always admired, loved, "but being afraid isn't a reason to give up. Maybe ... maybe it's a reason to try harder."

Her eyes flicked away briefly in embarrassment. "I'd come over two nights ago to tell you as much, but then seeing you … and remembering … I just, I reacted badly and I needed to get away, to deal with it, get some perspective, some space."

He leaned forward on the couch, their knees almost touching. She had his full attention now. Hope was getting harder and harder to crush.

"I wanted to do it alone, though. I thought I had to do it alone. The thing is, I'd forgotten what it's like to not be alone, to have someone's unwavering, unequivocal support. I thought I'd lost that when I lost my mom, so I didn't recognize it when I found it in you." She paused, her focus on him unwavering. "I told myself I needed to get away, when maybe I needed to do the exact opposite. I'm sorry for that."

He was not sure how to believe this was really happening. Not sure, actually, what was happening. The emotions in him were overwhelming; they gathered in his throat and pinched at the back of his eyes and squeezed tightly around his heart.

He reached out to touch her, but stopped halfway there. His hand trembled. This seemed … surreal. Things like this happened in his books. He'd so far refused to admit it to himself, but he'd started despairing, especially as he'd made no progress in solving her mother's case. He hadn't realized how close he'd come to no longer believing.

It's your own fault, Rick, he thought ruefully, happily. For underestimating Kate Beckett.

She looked at his hand which had stilled between them, and then at him. "Come on, Castle. I won't bite." She paused, mischief glinted behind the tears in her eyes. "Unless you want me to."

He laughed. To be honest, he felt a bit lightheaded.

"You might not believe me," he said. "But I don't know what to say."

"You're right," she laughed through her tears, enrapturing him. "I don't believe you."

"So…" he hesitated, "what are you saying exactly?"

She looked at him with a heartbreaking bravery. "I'm saying that I want to meet you halfway."

She could meet him one hundredth of the way, he thought. He'd gladly cover any distance for her, just knowing that she wanted him even just a little. Halfway was the deal of a lifetime.

"I'll take it," he said immediately, almost tripping over his words in his haste.

She slipped her hand into his still outstretched one. An eyebrow arched. _Your move_, it said.

He grinned in nothing short of delight as the tangible reality of this settled into place. Happiness tingled over his skin, made him feel brave and reckless and secure. If he jumped off the roof of his building right now, he'd be able to fly. He was convinced of it.

"C'mon, Kate," he tugged her closer, his grin widening. "Meet me halfway." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her onto the couch next to him. And he kissed her.

She came very willingly.

He kissed her with the full tenderness of his love, the marvel of it. Her lips were soft, her body warm. This, he thought, this would forever be enough for him. But then her tongue slipped past his lips and slid against his, her mouth opening under his, and he realized that nothing would ever be enough. Everything she gave would leave him wanting for more, thirsting for it. He slid a hand through her hair and the other around her waist, going in deeper, asking for more. She met him touch for touch, want for want, unfurling under him.

It took him a moment to realize the kiss had ended. She was resting her forehead against his, eyes closed in sweet, silent pleasure, in sated warmth. It was the expression she wore when she sipped those vanilla lattes he brought her in the middle of a tough case or a long day. It took him another moment to realize he was holding his breath. If he kept forgetting how to breathe after kissing her, he wasn't going to survive beyond the week.

"Wow," he said, and because he'd never been able to help himself when it came to teasing her, he added: "that was still amazing."

She laughed, joy was sparkling in her eyes when she pulled back to better look at him. He kept his hands on her waist and couldn't stop staring at her. So beautiful.

"Castle," she said, trying to get his attention.

"Hm," he replied absently, too busy staring.

She gave him an affectionate eye-roll. "Is this just going to make the creepy staring worse?" she asked fondly.

"You have no idea," he replied. He smiled at her. "I can't help it that when you're in a room, nothing else is worth looking at."

The warm green of her eyes darkened; the copper flamed. "You and your words, Rick." Her fingers toyed with the collar of his shirt, knuckles grazing his neck.

His face went slack. He swallowed heavily. That felt really, really good. It occurred to him how much … fun he was going to have being touched by Beckett. He'd fantasized, sure, but the reality of it shook his bearings loose. He let his forehead drop lightly against hers. His eyelids drifted shut and he concentrated on enjoying her touch, on memorizing how it felt to be caressed by this woman. His hands spanned firmly around her, holding her in place. He wasn't going to let her get away.

Then her thumb caressed his jaw and a sudden quiet overtook his thoughts. His always-active imagination settled into an awe-filled stillness. He only ever felt this way with her; that the reality of the moment was better than any story he could come up with, any plot he could devise, any moment he could capture in the permanent trappings of ink.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For?" he asked quietly, still immersed in feeling. Would every touch of hers, he wondered, feel like a gift? It would be like Christmas every day. How awesome would that be?

"Giving me something I'd stopped believing in."

He opened his eyes, surprised. She looked so serious as she watched him.

I love you, he wanted to say.

"That's what magic is all about," he said instead. She smiled, warm and soft and … enthralling.

In that moment, he could've conquered the world. He'd just conquered Kate's heart after all – finally – and the world was small fry compared to that.

"This was totally worth getting stabbed for." He had to say it.

She punched his arm. Hard.

He was too happy, elated, delighted, ecstatic, exhilarated to feel a thing.

* * *

><p>Kate sat cross-legged in the wide leather chair in her therapist's office. She'd always found the warm sepia tones of the room soothing, but right now her heart was too happy singing to worry about being soothed.<p>

"You look happy," he observed.

"Rick and I are giving it a try." She tried for a small smile, but could offer nothing short of a full-fledged, beaming grin. She hadn't been able to offer anything less to anyone since Rick had kissed her on his couch. She'd beamed at the idiot who'd driven recklessly around a corner that rainy morning and absolutely soaked her with dirty street water. She'd grinned widely when Gates had ordered she take overtime to get her paperwork under control. She'd even given a beaming smile to the suspect who'd called her all kinds of inappropriate things when she'd thrown him into a holding cell.

Nothing could touch her today.

Her therapist grinned back, as though he had no choice against the intoxicating infectiousness of her smile.

"What made you change your mind?" he asked.

Ah. Her smile dimmed. She worried her lip. Nothing could touch her today, except that.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I feel, here," she put a hand over her heart, "that I'm doing the right thing. It's here, though," she tapped her head, "that I'm worried I'm not." She was trying to let her heart overrule her head, but her head was so damn persistent.

"What worries you?"

"I wanted to … be ready. I wanted to be open." She looked out the window. Even through the euphoric giddiness that possessed her over the thought of doing this terrifying thing with Rick, the sharp bite of worry kept nagging. "I'm worried that … I'm not ready yet. That maybe I'll end up selling us short. Maybe I rushed into this."

"Kate," he began gently. "Have you considered that perhaps by focusing on all that you are not, you forget all that you are? It could be that taking this step with Rick is a step on your path to becoming that person you want to be."

She looked sceptical. She wanted to believe it, though. She really did.

"I told him I was seeing you," she said.

"How did you feel about telling him?"

"Good, actually," she answered after a moment of consideration. "He's the reason I came to see you. I was getting lost in my mom's case, in that … obsession. And I could see it in his eyes. That worry. It made me worry too, about myself. About what I was becoming. I didn't want to be that person again."

He watched her as though she'd said something very revealing. "Have you told him that you remember what happened when you were shot?" he asked.

She hesitated. "I don't think we're ready for that." She hesitated again. "I'm not ready for that."

He watched her silently.

"You think I should tell him," she said, slumping back in her chair. Worry went from nagging to gnawing.

"Why aren't you ready?" he asked.

She was back to looking out the window. Why wasn't she ready? What wasn't she ready for? She thought of her mom, of what that nameless, faceless, elusive bastard had done to her. How could she let that go? Could she give it up, forget about it? Who was she without that drive? Castle said she was that same person she'd always been, the one who found justice for victims, closure for their families. But were the two so separate? Weren't they just two sides of the same coin?

Maybe she had rushed into this. Maybe she had been taking too long to get to where she wanted to be. Maybe she was doing this just right.

"I just want to take it slow," she replied, looking at her therapist. "One step at a time. I will tell him," she added, perhaps a bit too quickly. She took a levelling breath. "Just not now."

* * *

><p>In the glowing evening light that buttered his office, Castle methodically put away all his work on Kate's case. He collected all the papers, and organized them into their respective folders. He stacked the folders neatly. He arranged photos by date and slipped them into envelopes. He uploaded Kate's case from his high-tech murderboard onto a flash drive. Kate's case; Kate's mom's case. One and the same, he thought. Kate was a victim from the moment her mother was killed. It just took 12 years for the bullet to find her.<p>

"What are you doing?"

Castle glanced back at his mother, who was standing at the entrance to his office.

"Putting this to rest," he replied.

She raised an eyebrow.

"For now," he felt obligated to add.

Saying that, however, didn't alleviate his guilt. He sighed.

"Kate's been seeing a therapist," he told her.

He saw a glimmer of admiration in his mother's eyes, and had to agree with her.

"She went to see him after … after I talked her down from running headfirst into her mom's case, when she came back from leave," he elaborated.

"Well," his mother said with no small measure of surprise, "she really does listen to you."

Castle tried not to feel offended by that. "I wasn't just saying it, you know. I meant it. Beckett values what I have to say." And why, he asked himself, are you getting so defensive. What are you trying to justify.

"I know, darling," his mother soothed. "But Beckett is … determined. It seems you had more faith in her than I did, and she proved you right."

"If I've learned one thing," Castle replied, "it's to never underestimate Beckett."

"So you think she's put this behind her?" Martha waved a hand to indicate the folders on his desk.

"I think she's ready to try."

"What changed?" she asked, curious and a bit disbelieving.

Castle grinned. He raised a rakish eyebrow, "I was too persistent and charming and ruggedly handsome to resist."

"Really," Martha watched him with a wary amusement.

"Really," he confirmed. "And now she wants to start living."

His mother's eyes widened in delight. "Does that mean what I think it means?" She was practically giddy.

Castle's glee, the sparkle in his eyes, said it all.

"Oh, darling!" she wrapped him in a hug. "I am so happy for you! Your persistence – and patience – really paid off! Unlike that time you decided you could write a play on par with The Mousetrap."

"And thank you for reminding me of that," he said, returning her hug. In truth, his happiness took all the sting out of her remark.

"It's just as well," Martha added. "You've been wallowing in the single life for far too long."

Castle refrained from rolling his eyes.

"So," Martha glanced at the murderboard. "I take it Kate knows about that?"

Castle shook his head. The grey clouds of guilt were once again floating overhead.

"Richard," she warned.

"I can't." He donned his cloak of impenetrable certainty. "I tell her this, I lose her. And she's so close to crawling back out of her mother's death. She's not ready yet. I won't lose her to this."

"This is quite a corner you've written yourself into." The damning concern in her eyes was hard to hide from.

"If I was the one doing the writing," he said ruefully, "you can rest assured the story would not have gone this way."

"We have all read Nikki Heat," his mother replied. "We know how you'd like this story to go."

He didn't say anything. There was no denying that back-stories like Kate's made for great fiction. It had been one of the strongest pulls he'd felt towards her, way back in the beginning. Now, he knew better: back-stories like Kate's may have made for great fiction, but they made for terrible realities. Brave, righteous, noble crime-fighting heroes were such tragic figures. Behind the comic panels, after the last page had been turned, they were left to pick up the pieces of a shattered life, of a broken heart, without an audience. He didn't want that for her.

Fate, he reminded himself. He and Kate Beckett were fated. Their story was not meant to be a tragic one. It was meant to be one of hope and redemption and love and the good guys winning in the end.

"Do you think she'll just forget about her mother's case?" Martha persisted, unconvinced.

"I think she'll realize that putting aside her mother's case is not the same thing as forgetting about her mother," he replied with conviction.

"Richard," her voice was heavy, serious. "What you were doing here," she indicated the now-blank murder board, "trying to solve her mother's case: who were you doing it for?"

Castle stilled. The gunfight between his frustration with his mother's continued pestering, and his conviction with the road he'd chosen came to a sudden ceasefire.

It was a good question. One he hadn't given much conscious thought to.

Who was he doing it for? For himself, so he could have Kate? For her, so she could let herself try for happiness? For Johanna Beckett, so she could have justice? For the truth?

He leaned back against his desk, suddenly not sure what he was doing anymore.

A knock sounded at the front door, drawing both their attention to the foyer, just visible from his office.

"That's her," he said, standing up and looking around to make sure he'd put away any and all incriminating evidence. "Can you get the door," he asked his mother. "I'll just put the files in the safe and lock up."

"Richard," his mother said, "I do hope you know what you're doing." With a final worried glance, she left his office to let Beckett in.

Me too, he thought. He really hoped he was doing the right thing.

He would tell her one day, he resolved. Just not now, when things were fresh and new and she looked at him like he held the world in his palms.

* * *

><p>Once she'd exchanged greetings with Martha, Kate walked to Castle's office. His back was turned to her as he locked up his safe. She watched how his shirt slid over his broad shoulders, how the light glinted off his hair and came to rest on his smoothly shaven jaw. A bittersweet contentment settled over her. She wished her mom could've met Rick.<p>

"Hey," she said, leaning against the doorway.

"Hey!" He looked at her over his shoulder, grinning like it was going out of fashion, and there was that sparkle in his blue eyes. Clicking the safe shut, he walked around his desk and stood in front of her, pulling her loosely into his arms. "How was your day, beautiful?"

She bit her lower lip. All this time she thought she'd developed some immunity to his charm. Little had she known.

She slid her hands up his chest, fingered the button on his shirt.

"You seem nervous," he said, a fond affection softened his smile.

"I talked to Gates today," she replied, not quite able to look at him. "She has one condition for your return."

"So I can come back!" he said excitedly.

Leave it to Castle to focus on the positive.

"She tried fighting it," Kate felt the need to say, "but the mayor was insistent."

"Remind me to buy the man the most expensive bottle of scotch on the market for Christmas."

"She doesn't want you there, Rick. She'll probably make your life even more difficult," Kate paused. She could give it one more try: "So if you want to reconsider—"

"Ha!" he said, amused. "Nice try. You can't get rid of me that easily, Beckett." He frowned in what could've passed as an intimidating glare if she squinted really hard, "I eat scary captains for breakfast."

"You eat kid cereal for breakfast, Castle," she replied, laughing.

He leaned forward to kiss her.

"Wait," she pressed a hand against his chest, slid it up his neck and let it rest against his cheek.

He stopped, looking for all the world like he was going to die of anticipation. It was disarmingly cute.

"You have to take self-defence classes," she said. "Gates' orders – otherwise you will not be allowed out of the precinct and into the field. It's non-negotiable."

"What?" he pulled back with a frown, no longer hovering enticingly over her lips. "That is…"

Kate watched warily as he processed the news, concerned this would be the final straw, the one to make Castle crack under the weight of Gates' antagonism.

"…So. Cool!" he finished enthusiastically. His frown cascaded into excitement. "Ooh! I choose Mok'bara, the Klingon martial art. It's great for hand-to-hand combat," he informed her.

She would love to hear Castle try and explain that to the captain. But then, teasing him was significantly more fun than watching Gates' glare at him. She liked it better when she was the one to make him squirm.

And she had just the thing to tease him with.

"Qo', ashalik," she said in a near-growl, "You can't."

He stared at her. She could literally see his synapses fry. He blinked.

"You speak Klingon" he said, awed, looking down at her with an intensity that made her fingers tingle. "So. Hot." His voice was low and deliciously gravelly. "Speak it again."

"yIDoghQo'," she toyed with the collar of his shirt, looking into his blue eyes, so heatedly fixed on hers. "You will take basic self-defence," she leaned up on her toes, and let her lips brush against his ear, "ashalik. Yaj'a'?"

He captured her in a hard, swift kiss. His arms tightened around her as his mouth and his and tongue and his hands engaged in a thorough, heated exploration of her. He pulled away, breathing hard, and she was left dazed by the passion of it.

She blinked, taking a moment to regain her bearings. She had something else to tell him ... something important...

"I have my own condition for your return."

He studied her, instantly wary. But his arms still held her tight.

"Next time," she spoke firmly to convey just how strongly she felt about this, "if the choice is between the suspect getting away and you intervening, you let the suspect go. You are there to observe and to think, you are not there to throw yourself at suspects. Am I clear?"

He hesitated.

"If it's the difference," he said, "between you getting hurt or not …" He shook his head. "I can't make any promises."

She stared at him long and hard.

"Meet me halfway, Kate" he said seriously. "No stupid risks."

"I don't take stupid risks."

"Says the woman who jumped across an alley."

"Hey, I made that jump," she protested. "And it was not a risk: I still hold my high school's record in the long jump."

"You do?" he asked, impressed.

She nodded.

"I still hold my high school's record for the most detentions in one week," he bragged, and added, "I guess we're both at the top of our game." He paused a beat, eyebrow quirked, "and you know you can be on top of me anytime."

"Castle," she warned, before he drifted too far off point.

"Right," he said, chastised. "Sorry. We were having a serious conversation. You were saying?"

"I was saying it wasn't really a risk, Rick, jumping across that alley. It was a calculated move and one I'd make again."

"I love it when you talk semantics," he grinned with a carefree happiness. "Super Becks."

"Don't call me that," she warned. Goodness, he really couldn't concentrate right now, could he?

"Why," his eyes glinted with devilish delight. "Will you punish me if I do?"

She decided to just roll with it. Maybe cuffing him to her bed until he saw things her way would be the best strategy here. Who said she had to play fair, if it meant the difference between keeping her promise to Alexis and breaking it?

"You like being punished, don't you?" she dropped her voice to a velvety whisper. "When you're a bad boy."

His eyes glazed over.

So easy, she thought.

"It's getting really hot in here," he murmured, leaning in to kiss her again.

"Hm," she hummed her contentment, not too surprised that Castle was so tactile. She slipped her hands around his waist, and down the curve of his back. He was such a good kisser, she thought. It was like his whole heart was invested in every touch. Like...

His lips were no longer on hers, she realized belatedly. And he was speaking.

She looked up at him in confusion.

"I was just saying," he grinned with something near pride, "that I won't take unnecessary risks." The look on his face was one he'd given her countless times before, when ... She raised an eyebrow at him. She wasn't born yesterday.

"I am not falling for that innocent act," she poked a finger in his chest. "Define 'unnecessary'."

"And there you go talking semantics with me again." His eyes danced, even as they darted to her lips.

"I'm serious."

"If you're in danger," he said honestly, "then getting involved is a necessary risk. It's one you cannot stop me from taking." The finality in his tone told her all she needed to know.

Fear started mixing water with cement and baking bricks. She tried to fight it. Meet him halfway, she reminded herself. This was the guy who'd slept on her couch because he thought he could protect her. Even though she was the one who carried a gun and was trained to protect.

"Final offer," he said firmly, though not without a hint of worry.

Kate took a deep breath.

"I'll take it," she said.

He grinned. "Good. Now if you'll excuse me," he stated playfully, "I have a more important matter to tend to."

"And what might that be?"

He dipped his head, his attention zeroing in on her mouth. "I have to reclaim my high school's record for the longest make-out session ever."

"By all means," said Kate, caught between amusement and anticipation. "I'm sure you have a reputation to maintain."

"Hey, Dad. I'm starving," Alexis said, entering the office. "What's for dinn-" she stopped suddenly at the sight of Castle and Beckett standing with their arms around each other. "Kate!" Her exclamation was accompanied by a smile that would've put the sun to shame. She looked at her father with such unadulterated, infectious pleasure that Kate found herself laughing.

"Hey, pumpkin." Castle's expression was a perfect mirror's of Alexis'. He turned his attention to his daughter, an arm wrapped around Beckett's waist.

Father and daughter just kept beaming at each other, exchanging enthusiastic, silent high fives with their eyes.

"You were saying something about starving?" Kate felt the need to remind them. At this rate they would just spend the entire evening grinning like idiots at each other.

"Huh?" Alexis said. "Oh yeah," she said, remembering herself. She looked eagerly at Kate. "You're staying for dinner, right?"

"Definitely," Castle answered for her. He led the trio out of his office and to the kitchen, pulling Beckett along with him. "Kate's staying for dinner. And," he winked at Kate, "if I'm lucky, for a sleepover."

"Dad," Alexis protested. "I'm right here. I can hear you. TMI."

"The girl's right," Martha chimed in from the kitchen. She shook her head in scolding disapproval as they neared, "and you could at least try for some romance." She glanced at Beckett. "Some wine, dear?"

"Thank you, Martha," Kate accepted the glass set out for her.

Martha handed a second glass of wine to Castle and a barely-filled third one to Alexis.

"You're old enough," Castle said when Alexis looked doubtfully at the glass.

"And I'm off duty," teased Kate.

"Come on, kiddo," Martha said, filling her own wine glass, "tonight calls for a toast."

Alexis gave in. She grinned, raising her glass, and the others followed suit.

"To justice being served," said Alexis, coming to stand next to Kate.

"To happy endings," Martha raised an eyebrow at her son.

"And to new beginnings," Castle put an arm around his mother's shoulders.

Kate met Rick's eyes and rested, for a moment, on the love she found there.

"To following your heart," she said.

"I'll drink to that," Martha said warmly.

"Here, here," Alexis and Castle agreed.

As they clinked glasses and sipped the dark, rich wine, bittersweet contentment again blanketed Kate. Her mother, she thought, would have approved.

* * *

><p>the end.<p> 


End file.
